Nanny Chloe Excerpts

(Full-Length ABDL Novella | New Original Release)

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Excerpt: Potty Training

(Notice: The following features mature content in an ABDL role-play setting. All characters are over the age of 18. It is entirely fictional and shared for entertainment purposes only.)

The next morning, for a little while, I thought everything might be okay.

I woke up in Haley’s arms.

My face was pressed against the front of her shirt, and her arm was still wrapped around my back, holding me close beneath the blankets. The collar was still locked around my neck, but the night before felt softer in the daylight.

Still humiliating.

Still awful.

But softer.

Haley stirred before I did. She kissed the top of my head and rubbed my back.

“Morning,” Haley said.

I opened my eyes.

“Morning,” I murmured.

Her hand moved through my hair, careful around the back of the collar.

“How are you feeling?”

I did not want to answer that honestly.

“Okay,” I said.

Haley looked down at me.

I corrected myself.

“I mean, better.”

She smiled.

“Good.”

There was no zap.

No lecture.

No mention of my wet clothes from the night before.

Haley made breakfast for both of us. Eggs and toast and sliced strawberries. She even let me sit at the table while she cooked, still in my pajamas, wrapped in one of her cardigans.

For the first time since the collar had gone on, I felt something almost like relief.

Maybe she understood.

Maybe last night had scared her, too.

Maybe, after seeing me cry like that, she realized there were limits.

We ate quietly for a few minutes.

Then Haley asked, “Did you sleep?”

I nodded, already chewing a bite of toast.

“Yeah, I slept okay,” I said through my mouthful.

Zap.

The correction sparked against the back of my neck.

I gasped and clapped a hand over my mouth.

Haley only looked at me.

I swallowed fast, my face going hot.

“Sorry,” I said.

Haley raised an eyebrow.

I stiffened.

“Sorry,” I repeated quickly. “I mean, yes, Haley. I won’t talk with my mouth full.”

“Good,” Haley said.

That was the only correction during breakfast.

One little zap.

Embarrassing, but not terrible. Not like the night before.

I let myself relax again.

Then, when our plates were empty, Haley reached beside her chair and placed a book on the table.

She pushed it toward me with two fingers.

I looked down.

The cover was glossy and bright. White background. Big rounded letters. A cartoon toilet with smiling eyes. A little blond child in overalls giving a thumbs-up.

The title read: The Big Book of Potty Training

I stared at it.

For a moment, I could not make myself understand what I was seeing.

Then I looked up at Haley.

She folded her hands on the table.

“Renee,” Haley said. “We need to have a talk.”

My stomach dropped.

“No,” I said.

“We do.”

“No, we don’t,” I said. “Please don’t do this.”

Haley’s face stayed calm.

“Sweetie, after last night, it’s clear we can’t just ignore this.”

“I had an accident because you shocked me,” I said.

Haley sighed softly.

“You had an accident because you have poor potty-training skills under stress.”

I felt my face go hot.

“Don’t call it that.”

“That’s what it is,” Haley said. “You have difficulty recognizing urgency, delaying appropriately, and taking responsibility before an accident happens.”

“I’m not a toddler.”

“No,” Haley said. “You’re an adult woman who keeps wetting her pants and hiding it.”

I looked down.

The tiny cartoon child on the book cover kept smiling.

Haley tapped the book.

“The good news is that potty training is a behavioral process,” she said. “And behavioral processes can be corrected.”

“With the collar,” I said.

“With the collar,” Haley said, “and with basic potty-training techniques.”

I shook my head.

“No. Absolutely not.”

Haley leaned back in her chair.

“Renee, this is exactly what I’m talking about. You say you want to improve, but the second improvement requires discomfort, you reject the entire process.”

“Because you’re talking about potty training me,” I said, my voice cracking. “Do you hear how insane that sounds?”

“I hear how embarrassing it sounds,” Haley said. “That doesn’t make it insane.”

I crossed my arms.

Haley watched me for a long moment.

“Your accidents are not separate from the rest of your issues,” she said. “They come from the same place. Avoidance. Poor self-monitoring. Impulsivity. Refusing to take responsibility until someone else has to step in.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It is fair,” Haley said. “And the sooner you stop treating every problem as an attack on your dignity, the sooner we can actually help you.”

I hated how easily she said we.

As if I had already agreed.

As if my body had become a shared project.

Haley opened the book and turned it toward me. Several pages were already marked with pink tabs.

Of course they were.

“We’ll start simple,” Haley said. “Timed sits. Positive reinforcement. Accident logging. Hygiene checks if needed.”

“Hygiene checks?” I asked.

“Not today,” Haley said. “If you cooperate.”

I went quiet.

Haley’s voice softened.

“I love you, Renee. I told you that last night. I meant it. But loving you does not mean pretending a serious issue is not serious.”

I stared at the table.

“And if I do this,” I said quietly, “you’ll stop bringing up last night?”

“I’ll stop bringing it up as shame,” Haley said. “I won’t stop treating it as data.”

I almost laughed.

Instead, I wiped my eyes.

“I don’t want this.”

“I know.”

“It’s humiliating.”

“Yes,” Haley said. “But hiding it has been humiliating, too. Hasn’t it?”

I looked away.

That was the problem.

She was right just often enough.

Finally, I whispered, “Fine.”

Haley tilted her head.

“Fine what?”

I clenched my jaw.

“Fine. I’ll try the potty training.”

Haley smiled.

“Good girl.”

She stood and went to the counter, where a small white box had been waiting beside the coffee maker.

I had not noticed it before.

She opened it and took out a plastic wrist timer.

My heart sank again.

It matched the collar.

Smooth white casing. Tiny green light. A little pink heart on the face. But unlike a normal watch, the band was thick and glossy, with no visible buckle. The numbers on the screen were large and rounded, almost toy-like.

“No,” I said.

Haley came around the table.

“Wrist, please.”

“No. That thing looks ridiculous.”

Zap.

I flinched hard.

Haley stopped beside me.

“That was for attitude,” she said.

I stared at her, stunned.

“Attitude?”

“Yes,” Haley said. “You agreed to comply with your potty training. Complaining and resisting every step is not compliance.”

“I agreed thirty seconds ago.”

“And already you’re resisting,” Haley said.

I wanted to argue.

I did not.

I held out my wrist.

Haley fastened the timer around it. It clicked shut with the same awful finality as the collar had.

I immediately tried to find the clasp.

There wasn’t one.

“Don’t,” Haley said.

I froze.

“The timer is locked,” Haley said. “Just like the collar. It will come off when I decide it comes off.”

I stared down at it.

It looked childish and bright and impossible to hide.

“What if I’m at school?”

“Then you follow the timer at school.”

My eyes widened.

“Haley.”

“We’ll discuss outside protocols later,” Haley said. “For today, we’re staying home and establishing the basics.”

She tapped the timer screen.

Thirty minutes appeared.

Then twenty-nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds.

Twenty-nine fifty-eight.

Twenty-nine fifty-seven.

“There is a receiver in the bathroom,” Haley said. “When the alarm goes off, you will have sixty seconds to be seated on the toilet. If you are not seated by then, the collar corrects you.”

I stared at her.

“You put a device in the bathroom?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

While I was sleeping.

Of course.

“The system is very simple,” Haley said. “Every thirty minutes, you try to go potty.”

“Please don’t say it like that.”

Haley gave me a look.

I lowered my eyes.

“Yes, Haley,” I muttered.

“Better.”

I spent the next twenty minutes trying not to stare at the timer.

That was impossible.

It sat on my wrist, counting down in huge cheerful numbers while Haley cleared the breakfast dishes and rinsed our plates.

I kept hearing it even though it made no sound.

Every second felt loud.

When the timer finally beeped, I jumped.

A bright little chime filled the kitchen.

Then the screen changed.

Sixty.

Fifty-nine.

Fifty-eight.

Haley dried her hands.

“Potty time,” she said.

My whole body went stiff.

“I don’t have to go.”

“That’s not what the timer means,” Haley said. “The timer means you try.”

“I really don’t have to.”

“Then this should be quick.”

She held out her hand.

I stared at it.

“Renee,” Haley said.

I stood.

The timer continued counting down.

Forty-three.

Forty-two.

Haley walked me down the hall with one hand on the small of my back. Not pushing. Guiding.

In the bathroom, I saw the receiver right away. A small white device stuck to the tile beside the toilet, blinking green. It had the same tiny pink heart sticker as the timer.

I hated that.

“Pants down,” Haley said.

I turned to her.

“You’re staying?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Renee.”

“I’m not pulling my pants down in front of you.”

“You had no issue letting me help you get cleaned up last night.”

“That was different.”

“It was,” Haley said. “You were upset. Now we are practicing.”

The timer beeped faster.

Twenty.

Nineteen.

My hands hovered uselessly at my waistband.

“Renee,” Haley said. “If you are not seated when the countdown ends, the collar will correct you.”

“I know!”

“But you’re not moving.”

Sixteen.

Fifteen.

Haley sighed, then stepped forward.

Before I could stop her, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of my pajama pants and pulled them down with my underwear in one smooth motion.

I gasped.

“Haley!”

“I’m helping you avoid a correction,” Haley said.

She turned me by the shoulders and sat me down on the toilet just as the countdown reached four.

The timer chirped.

Then the screen changed again.

Three minutes.

Two fifty-nine.

Two fifty-eight.

I sat there with my pajama pants around my ankles and my face burning.

Haley stood in front of me, holding the book against her chest.

“This is stupid,” I said.

I started to stand.

Zap.

The correction hit before I had even lifted fully off the seat.

I dropped back down with a gasp.

Then, because I had not settled fast enough, it happened again.

Zap.

“Ow!” I cried.

Haley’s face was firm.

“You will be corrected if you are not seated for the full three minutes,” Haley said.

“I get it!”

“Then stay seated.”

I gripped the edge of the toilet seat, shaking with anger.

Haley opened the book and turned to one of the pink tabs.

“Listen to this,” she said.

“No.”

Haley ignored me.

“For anxious little ones, three full minutes is the optimum amount of time for a potty attempt,” Haley read. “Many accidents happen because the little one rushes the process, insists they don’t have to go, or leaves the potty too soon. The caregiver should remain calm, encouraging, and consistent until the full sit is complete.”

I stared at her.

“Did you just read me a toddler potty-training book?” I asked.

“I read you a relevant passage,” Haley said.

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

“I’m not peeing.”

“Renee…” Haley chided.

But I ignored her.

I sat there for the full three minutes with my pants around my ankles, my jaw locked, and my bladder held tight out of pure spite.

When the timer finally chimed, Haley looked at the toilet, then at me.

“Nothing?” Haley asked.

“No.”

“Alright,” Haley said.

I stood quickly and yanked my underwear and pajama pants back up, eager to be covered again.

Haley walked to the wall beside the sink and peeled the backing off a folded sheet of laminated paper. Then she stuck it to the tile.

It was a potty chart.

A real one.

There were rows of empty boxes, little printed toilets, stars, and sad faces.

My name was written at the top in Haley’s neat handwriting.

Renee’s Potty Progress.

I felt sick.

Haley opened the bathroom drawer and took out a little sheet of stickers. Then she carefully peeled off a red frowny face and pressed it into the first empty box.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“You didn’t go,” Haley said.

“That’s not fair. I didn’t even do anything wrong. I just don’t have to pee.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

She looked at me for a long second.

Then she smiled.

I did not like that smile.

Before I could ask what she was doing, Haley stepped forward and started tickling my sides.

I shrieked.

“Haley, stop!”

She kept going, her fingers digging lightly into my ribs.

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop!”

“If you really don’t have to go,” Haley said, “this shouldn’t be a problem.”

“It is a problem!” I gasped, twisting away from her.

Then I felt it.

A sudden, sharp pressure low in my stomach.

Real urgency.

My laughter turned into panic.

“Stop!” I shouted. “I have to go!”

Haley stopped immediately and stepped back.

“Well?” Haley asked.

I stared at her.

Then I lunged for my waistband.

My hands fumbled badly, panic making me clumsy, but I managed to shove my pajama pants and underwear down and drop back onto the toilet just before it happened.

A small stream started almost immediately.

Loud enough to hear in the quiet bathroom.

My face burned so badly I had to close my eyes.

Haley said nothing until I was finished.

Then she picked up the marker again.

“See?” Haley said. “I knew it.”

She drew another frowny face in the next box.

“What?” I said. “Why do I get another frowny face? I went on the toilet!”

“You went after your designated potty time,” Haley said. “That means your body is still releasing at the wrong time.”

“That’s insane. You tickled me!”

“And you were able to make it to the potty,” Haley said. “Which proves you had more control than you claimed.”

I stared at her, still seated on the toilet with my pants around my ankles.

“You were just being stubborn,” Haley said. “That’s what the collar is for.”

Then she picked up the remote.

Zap.

I yelped.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“Every time you pee outside your designated potty time, you get a correction,” Haley said. “The point is to train your body to hold it and release at the appropriate time.”

“I don’t like this!”

“Sweetie, you already agreed,” Haley said. “And studies show that with someone this stubborn, with this many deeply ingrained habits, applied physical correction is the only real solution.”

I stared at her.

My pants were still around my ankles.

The timer on my wrist had already reset to thirty minutes.

I felt like I was losing ground every second.

“Fine,” I said.

I yanked up my underwear and pajama pants, then tried to walk past her.

Zap.

I cried out and grabbed the back of my neck.

“What now?”

Haley pointed to the sink.

“You didn’t wash your hands.”

I stared at her.

Then I laughed once, sharp and humorless.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Haley’s expression did not change.

“Hands,” she said.

I stepped to the sink.

Haley stood behind me in the mirror while I turned on the water.

“Warm,” Haley said.

I adjusted the faucet.

“Soap.”

I pumped soap into my palm.

“Both hands. Between the fingers. Under the nails.”

“I know how to wash my hands.”

Haley looked at me in the mirror.

I shut my mouth.

She watched the entire time.

“Longer,” Haley said.

I kept scrubbing.

“Rinse.”

I rinsed.

“Dry them properly.”

I dried them on the towel.

Haley inspected my hands before letting me lower them.

“Good,” she said. “That’s how we finish potty.”

I looked at myself in the mirror.

White collar.

Pink heart.

Potty timer ticking on my wrist.

Twenty-nine minutes.

Forty-one seconds.

Forty.

Thirty-nine.

Haley smiled at me in the reflection.

“There,” she said. “First lesson done.”

But the timer had already started counting down to the next one.

___________

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Excerpt: Life in Pampers

(Notice: The following features mature content in an ABDL role-play setting. All characters are over the age of 18. It is entirely fictional and shared for entertainment purposes only.)

On the third day of working as Mrs. Drexler’s official live-in maid, I felt an ominous gurgle in my stomach.

I tried to ignore it.

My tummy had been gurgling since the first day, after the big lunch I'd been served. A thick vegetable soup. Dense brown bread. Stewed fruit. A glass of water I was required to finish before leaving the table.

But Mrs. Drexler had made it crystal clear that the bathrooms were still totally off limits.

Peeing in the diaper was bad enough. Doing anything else in it was unthinkable.

So I tried to be clever.

The second morning, I waited until the upstairs bathroom was on my checklist. I carried the cleaning bucket upstairs, found Mrs. Drexler in the hall, and asked if she would unlock it so I could clean.

When she unlocked the door, I felt a moment of hope as I pictured myself secretly finally using the toilet to go number two the moment she walked away.

Except the problem was, Mrs. Drexler did not walk away.

Instead, she stepped into the bathroom with me and stood there and watched while I cleaned. The whole time. With no explanation.

She watched me scrub the toilet. Watched me wipe the mirror. Watched me polish the faucet, rinse the sponge, dry the sink, and fold the hand towel exactly the way she liked it.

Once, while I was kneeling beside the tub, desperately wishing I could just use the toilet mere feet away, another cramp twisted low in my stomach. I froze with one hand on the tile, gritting my teeth.

“Is there a problem?” Mrs. Drexler asked.

“No, ma’am,” I answered.

“Then continue,” she said.

When I finished, she inspected the bathroom, pointed out a faint streak on the mirror, made me correct it, then ushered me into the hall and locked the bathroom behind us.

After that, I thought about asking to leave the house. Not for long. Just long enough to walk to a gas station. A coffee shop. Anywhere with a bathroom.

At the end of the second day, I stood in the front hall after changing out of my uniform and tried to make the request sound casual.

“Mrs. Drexler?” I said.

“Yes, Julian?” she replied.

“Would it be alright if I went out for a little while? Just to get some air,” I said.

She looked up from the mail she was sorting. “No,” she replied.

My stomach dropped.

“Oh. I thought the rules said I could leave with permission,” I said.

“They do,” she said.

I waited.

“This is your first week living here,” she said. “You are on probation. During probation, you do not have permission to leave the premises unless I accompany you or specifically send you on an errand.”

“But the paper said curfew isn’t until eight,” I whined.

“The paper also said permission to leave may be revoked,” she said. “Julian, you are adjusting to structure. Structure requires consistency. Wandering the neighborhood because you feel restless does not help that process.”

I swallowed.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

That night, after lights out, I tried one more thing in my quest to relieve my bowels.

I waited in my attic room until the house went quiet. Then I got out of bed carefully, moving slowly so the floorboards would not creak.

I did not even know what my plan was. Maybe I would sneak downstairs. Maybe I would try the back door. Maybe I would find a bathroom key hanging somewhere, stupid as that hope was.

Mostly, I just knew I could not lie there with my stomach cramping and do nothing.

I crossed the attic room in the dark, turned the knob…

It wouldn’t budge.

For a second, I thought it was stuck.

Then I tried again.

I finally realized it was locked. Locked from the outside.

I stood there in the dark with my hand on the knob, feeling the truth settle over me.

She had locked me in.

I was not just expected to stay in my room. I was being kept there, whether I liked it or not.

By the third morning, the pressure in my bowels had turned from discomfort into something urgent and constant. I woke up cramped, sweating, and afraid to move too quickly.

That was when I knew I was really in trouble.

Mrs. Drexler brought me my breakfast at seven-thirty exactly, just as the rules promised. Oatmeal. Bran stirred through it. Prunes. Half a grapefruit. Two slices of heavy toast. A tall glass of milk.

“I’m not very hungry,” I said, my tummy already churning from the moment I woke.

“Then take smaller bites,” Mrs. Drexler said coldly.

I picked up the spoon and ate a few bites while she stood over me. The oatmeal sat heavy in my mouth. Warm, thick, faintly sweet, with little pieces of prune I could not avoid no matter how carefully I stirred.

After a few minutes, I put the spoon down. “I’m full,” I said.

“Julian,” she said. “Breakfast is not optional.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I sighed, too exhausted to fight.

So I finished it.

By the time I went downstairs in my uniform, diapered for the morning, I could feel breakfast settling into my tummy and making my bowels feel fuller than ever.

The diaper was dry then. Mostly. That was the only good thing I could say about it.

It did not stay that way for long.

Two changes a day had sounded dreadful from the moment Mrs. Drexler explained it… and it was. There was no way around that. A morning change at eight, after breakfast. An evening change at five-thirty, after dinner, before I was allowed out of the work uniform.

That left a lot of hours wearing a diaper without a change. Too many.

If I wet after breakfast, I stayed wet while I cleaned. If I wet after lunch, I stayed wetter.

By midafternoon every day, the diaper sagged heavily between my legs, swollen under the tights, forcing me into that awful padded walk Mrs. Drexler told me not to dramatize. I felt every shift. Every crinkle. Every warm reminder that I was no longer trusted with something as basic as the potty.

The nights were worse in a different way.

At five-thirty, after dinner, Mrs. Drexler changed me into a fresh diaper. Then I changed out of the uniform and was sent up to my attic room, where there was nothing to do but wait for bedtime.

No television. No wandering. No phone unless she decided I had earned it. Just the narrow bed, the slanted ceiling, the little window, and the diaper under my clothes.

On the first night, after getting sent to my room after dinner, I tried to hold my pee until morning.

That was stupid.

By eight o’clock, with lights out still an hour away, I was sitting on the edge of the bed, restless and humiliated, needing to pee and knowing there was nowhere else for it to go.

Eventually, I gave in. Just as I learned to do every night. I would wet my diaper.

Then I would have to lie down in it. Sleep in it. Wake up in it. Eat breakfast in it while Mrs. Drexler stood over me with the tray.

Then, finally, at 8 a.m., she would take me to Zoe’s room and change me for the workday.

Morning and evening. That was the diaper changing schedule. It was utterly humiliating.

And still… that was only pee.

Now it was Thursday. I hadn’t pooped in three days. And that morning’s chore was the downstairs baseboards.

All of them. On my hands and knees.

The bending was the worst part.

Every time I leaned forward, pressure shifted inside me. Every time I crouched back on my heels, the diaper pressed up against me and my stomach cramped again. Every stretch to reach behind a table leg made my body clench in panic.

Not yet. Not here. Not in my diaper, please…

I kept telling myself that.

But my body was done listening. Halfway through the dining room, a stronger cramp rolled through me. I grabbed the edge of the baseboard and went still, breathing through my nose.

By lunch, I was sweating. Not from the work. But from holding back my massive bowel movement…

Finally, I decided I was going to have to break down and beg Mrs. Drexler to use the bathroom during lunch. I didn’t have a choice.

I just hoped she would give me this one thing…

It was my only hope…

When I entered the dining room for lunch, I was greeted by an unexpected sight.

Zoe was seated at the table. She did not look up.

She was wearing a pale yellow onesie with little white buttons up the front and ruffled trim at the sleeves. Her hair was brushed smooth and clipped back with two small barrettes. White socks covered her feet. Beneath the onesie, I could see the unmistakable bulk of a pull-up.

She sat with her hands in her lap, staring down at her plate as if she had been told not to move until spoken to.

“Zoe has the day off today from community college,” Mrs. Drexler said from behind me. “Isn’t that right, dear?”

“Yes, Mommy,” Zoe said quietly.

I took my place at the table, trying not to look at her.

I looked anyway.

The outfit made her seem younger than she was. Worse, it made her seem trained. Like this was not humiliation anymore, but routine.

Mrs. Drexler served lunch.

Thick lentil soup. Dense brown bread. Stewed apples. A heavy salad full of beans and chopped vegetables. Another tall glass of milk.

My stomach gave a low, sick gurgle before I even picked up my spoon.

I managed two bites. Then another cramp hit me.

This one was different. Lower. Heavier. A warning from my bowels I could no longer ignore.

“Mrs. Drexler,” I said.

“Mind your manners. Table talk is not permitted while food is being served,” she said curtly.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just…”

“Young man!” she scolded. “What did I just say?”

I felt Zoe looking at me now.

“I just really need to use the upstairs bathroom!” I finally blurted.

Mrs. Drexler frowned, then calmly set down her spoon.

“You have not been permitted to use the bathroom since being put back into diapers. You know that,” she said.

My face went hot. Zoe’s eyes widened.

I realized I had no idea what Zoe knew about my situation so far. But based on her expression, she had just learned the most embarrassing detail.

“I know,” I said. “But I really, really need to go.”

“Young man!” Mrs. Drexler scolded. “Not only are you asking to break the rules, I just explained to you that table talk is not permitted. Are you this desperate to earn a punishment?”

“But this is different! Please! I… I need to go number two!” I blurted.

The room went silent.

My whole body went cold with shame.

I stared down at my lap, unable to look at either of them. I could feel sweat gathering at the back of my neck. Beneath the table, my diaper felt thicker than ever, as if it had suddenly become the only thing in the room.

At last, Mrs. Drexler said, “Oh, really?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I answered nervously.

“Well then,” she said, “why didn’t you say so?”

For one strange second, I felt a flicker of hope.

Then she continued.

“You may go to the corner and do your business in your diaper. I will preserve your lunch and have it served to you in your room once your business is finished.”

I stared at her.

“What?” I asked.

Mrs. Drexler gave a small laugh. “Did you expect Zoe and me to sit here smelling your dirty pamper while we eat? I’m terribly sorry, dear, but that is not going to happen.”

Zoe looked away, her cheeks flushing this time on my behalf.

Mrs. Drexler pointed toward the corner of the dining room. “Up on your feet,” she ordered.

I did not move.

“And hold your skirt up so I can observe the back of your diaper from here,” she added. “I want to know when you are finished.”

“Please,” I whispered.

“Oh, that is it,” Mrs. Drexler said, suddenly throwing her napkin down.

She stood, came around the table, and took me firmly by the arm. “You have done nothing but interrupt, argue, and make a scene. If you need to behave like a messy little child, you may do it in the corner, away from the table.”

“Mrs. Drexler, please, I can wait,” I fruitlessly begged while she marched me across the dining room.

“Nose in,” she ordered, pushing me firmly into the corner, pressing my face up against the wall.

Then she lifted the back of my skirt.

I gasped.

The fabric was tucked up into the waistband of my diaper, leaving the thick white padding fully exposed.

Behind me, Zoe made a tiny sound. Somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. I could feel her staring.

I stood there with my nose to the wall, dress lifted, diaper on display, stomach cramping so badly I had to clench every muscle in my body to keep from losing control of my bowels right then and there.

But I still didn’t dare let myself do it.

Not like this. Not while they ate lunch behind me. Not while Zoe watched…

I gritted my teeth and continued my epic struggle to hold my cramping bowels while the dining room returned to the quiet sounds of lunch. Spoons against bowls. A glass being lifted. Mrs. Drexler softly reminding Zoe to sit up straight.

Minutes passed. Too many. I held on until my whole body shook.

Finally, I heard Mrs. Drexler’s chair move. “I don’t smell anything,” she said.

Her footsteps approached. I closed my eyes.

Then her hand pressed against the back of my diaper, checking.

“Interesting,” she said. “Still clean.”

“I don’t have to go anymore,” I said quickly.

There was a pause.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Drexler said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t actually have to go after all.”

Mrs. Drexler said nothing for a moment.

Then she said, very softly, “I see.”

My stomach dropped. It was far worse than yelling.

“So you lied to me,” she said.

“No, I…”

“You interrupted lunch. You discussed filthy bathroom matters at the table. You made a spectacle of yourself in front of Zoe. And now you are telling me it was all based on a lie,” she charged.

I was speechless. I didn’t know what to say. It felt like there was no correct answer.

“Come here,” Mrs. Drexler said, lowering my skirt. She took my arm again and guided me back to the table, but not to my previous seat.

Instead, to the head of the table.

“Sit.”

I sat.

“Hands on your head.”

My face burned. Zoe stared at me from her place, thumb hovering near her mouth.

“Hands,” Mrs. Drexler repeated.

I placed them on my head.

“Zoe,” Mrs. Drexler said, “you will remain seated and watch yet another reminder of how we handle lying in this house.”

Zoe nodded quickly.

Mrs. Drexler crossed to the kitchen sink. She picked up the bar of soap from beside the faucet, ran it under the water, and turned back to me.

My heart lurched.

“No,” I whispered.

She ignored me, standing in front of me and holding the soap up where I could see it. I was reminded of the soap I lathered up for Zoe’s mouth just the previous week.

“I told you, this is what we do to liars in this house,” Mrs. Drexler said. “We wash out their filthy lying mouths.”

“I wasn’t lying,” I said.

Her eyes flashed.

“Open,” Mrs. Drexler demanded.

“Please.”

“Open your mouth, Julian.”

I opened it.

The soap pressed past my lips. The taste hit immediately.

Bitter. Chemical. Wrong.

I gagged and tried to pull back, but Mrs. Drexler held my chin with one hand and scrubbed the soap across my tongue with the other.

I made a muffled sound of protest.

“Quiet,” she said. “You may cry if you need to, but you will not fight me.”

My eyes watered. Foam gathered at the corners of my mouth. I could see Zoe watching over her untouched lunch, horrified and transfixed, her own thumb now tucked fully between her lips.

Mrs. Drexler kept going.

“Lying is filthy,” she said. “Hiding is filthy. Manipulating me with false emergencies is filthy.”

Another cramp hit my aching bowels.

I stiffened.

The soap dragged across my tongue again, and I gagged so hard my whole body seized.

That was when I finally lost the fight. It happened before I could stop it.

I suddenly lost control of my bowels… and began pooping my diaper.

___________

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Excerpt: A Crinkly Wedding Night

(Notice: The following features mature content in an ABDL role-play setting. All characters are over the age of 18. It is entirely fictional and shared for entertainment purposes only.)

My hands were bound together with leather cuffs. My eyes were covered with a blindfold. I was lying buck naked on top of my bed.

My cock was rock hard.

“You ready for your present, naughty boy?” my wife, April, whispered in my ear.

“Yes,” I whimpered. April climbed on top of me, straddling me with her knees.

Did I mention it was our wedding night? April and I had just returned home from the reception of our wedding as newlyweds when she told me to undress for a “special present.”

I had no idea what she had in store for me, but from the moment we both ripped our clothes off and April put me in the leather cuffs, I was sure whatever it was, it was going to be very kinky… and very fun.

I felt April’s finger on my chin, then I felt her trace my chest all the way down to my penis. She gave my cock a little squeeze. I winced in pleasure.

“Keep your eyes closed while I take this off,” she said in a seductive voice as she began removing my blindfold.

“Yes, mistress,” I replied.

“Open,” she commanded.

I opened my eyes to see my beautiful, buck naked wife sitting on top of me with a huge smile.

And in her hands, she was holding…

A package of Adult Diapers.

My eyes went wide.

“What are those?” I asked in shock.

April smiled. “Oh please. I think you know exactly what these are,” she teased.

I felt my cheeks starting to blush. “Huh?” I replied, trying to play dumb.

“The jig is up, Elliot,” April said. “When we started talking about each other’s kinks a few months ago, you said you had one kink you were scared to share with me. And then, strangely enough, you never brought it up with me again. Well guess what? I think I figured out your little secret,” she said with an evil smile.

“But… how? I mean… what are you talking about?” I stammered.

“You know that password-protected folder on your phone you thought was so well hidden? It wasn’t too hard for me to figure out the password with a little guesswork. I got a chance to look around in there after you fell asleep last week,” she explained. “Maybe it turns out I’m a little more clever than you realize,” she said with a wink.

Internally, I began to panic.

“I found a few folders of men and women getting tied up… a few folders of people getting spanked,” she continued, patting my naked bottom for emphasis. “No surprises there. Those I expected.

“But! What caught me off guard was the collection of pictures and videos you had that were labeled… I think the letters were… ‘ABDL’?

“It was by far the largest collection of photos and videos. Hundreds of photos and videos of… adults in diapers,” she said with an evil smile. She rustled the package of diapers over my face.

I was speechless and paralyzed.

April was dead on. The fetish I was secretly most obsessed with, yet was too terrified to reveal, was my diaper fetish.

Many months ago, when April and I fell in love, I decided that I would forever keep my diaper kink secret from her. I was sure she would find it a huge turn-off, and I was convinced that if I ever even told her about it, she would never see me the same way.

After all, my kink was, objectively speaking… strange… infantile… and well… embarrassing.

It was embarrassing that I had always fantasized about being treated like a baby instead of a man…

It was embarrassing how often I crave the sensation of being wrapped in a thick, soft, crinkly, adorable, disposable diaper…

It was embarrassing how quickly I came at just the thought of making my diapers thick and soggy with my pee…

Or even messy with my… Well, you know…

I’ve always viewed it as my personal curse that the core of my sexual desires have always revolved around a fetish that was so embarrassing.

And of course, the truth was, my profound embarrassment was probably the exact reason why ABDL fantasies have always turned me on so much…

But that being said, my embarrassment was still terrifyingly real. It was why I had kept it a dark secret my whole life. It was why I had resolved to never tell April. And it was why I was speechless as she held the pack of adult diapers over my head.

April continued to stare down at me, waiting for my response. “So, what’s it going to be, Elliot? Are you going to fess up to your naughty, perverted little diaper fetish?”

She raised her eyebrow. I still couldn’t utter a word.

“Or… do I have to put one of these diapers on you myself… and have your little weewee tell me instead?” April said with a devious look in her eyes.

My eyes widened. I felt simultaneously horrified… and more turned on than I’d ever felt in my life.

I tried to say something, but all that came out of my mouth was a pathetic squeak.

April reached down and gave my throbbing cock another gentle squeeze. I gasped with pleasure.

April gave me a knowing smile, then climbed off the bed. “Alright, naughty boy, let’s get you in a diaper so you don’t wet the bed tonight,” she said in a consoling tone.

I watched with wide eyes as she ripped open the package of adult diapers. I was practically in awe as she grabbed one of the bright white, crinkly, plastic undergarments and unfolded it in front of me.

Even though I had fantasized about wearing diapers most of my life, I had always been too scared to actually buy any. After all, the idea of getting caught with them had always been unthinkable to me.

Admittedly, the diapers April had bought appeared to be the cheap, department-store kind—not the super thick, ABDL diapers I saw pictures of online. But I was in no mood to be ungrateful.

Instead, my heart was pounding with excitement. I couldn’t believe it was finally happening. I was finally going to get to wear a diaper!

My gorgeous, incredible, newlywed wife was about to put a diaper on me right before my eyes. I felt like I was dreaming.

“Legs up,” she said in a motherly tone, making me melt.

I closed my eyes and obliged. I quietly cooed with pleasure as I felt her push the diaper underneath my bottom and guide my naked bottom back down. She then brought the bottom of the diaper up between my legs and taped it closed.

I felt her poke the tip of my penis and giggle.

I looked down to see that my cock was still so stiff that it was poking out of the top of my diaper’s waistband. I couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“Uh oh,” she said as she rubbed the front of my diaper. Hearing and feeling the crinkly diaper against my cock was practically divine.

“It looks like we found an answer to my question, haven’t we?” April said. “It looks like my naughty little boy does like his diapee’s. He likes them so much, his little weewee is too big to fit in them,” she teased.

My cock throbbed with another surge of pleasure. I was amazed at how well she seemed to know how to play the role of a “Mommy” that I had fantasized about for so long.

“Well, I’d better help him with that,” she said with a wink.

April climbed on top of me, pulled the waist of my diaper down enough to reveal the rest of my cock, and lowered her mouth to my penis.

I gasped as I felt her wet lips land on the head of my cock. I immediately began helplessly squealing with pleasure as she sucked my shaft all the way to the base—then back up again.

I felt like I was about to cum in her mouth right then and there.

April looked up at me and smacked her lips, clearly swallowing a bit of my pre-cum.

“My, my, I figured you must have a really intense diaper fetish given that you were too embarrassed to even mention it. And I think I’m learning that I was right, judging by the fact that this is the hardest I’ve ever seen your cock,” she said with a wink.

I blushed as she cupped and massaged my balls with her hand through my crinkly diaper. She then leaned in and began sucking my cock again.

She expertly sucked, slurped, and used her tongue to put me in a state of sexual rapture. I was uncontrollably moaning and writhing and gasping on my bed as my body trembled in ecstasy. It was certainly the best blowjob I’d ever received.

Finally, after just a few minutes, I screamed with earth-shattering pleasure as my cum exploded from the tip of my cock. April finished me off with her hand as my semen sprayed out like a hose all over my belly in one of the best orgasms I’d ever had in my life.

I collapsed in exhaustion as April skillfully pulled the waist of my diaper up and wiped my cum into its folds.

As I heaved for breath, April climbed on the bed next to me and put her arm around me. We lay next to each other in silence for a long minute.

“Elliot,” she whispered. “Did you enjoy that?”

I turned and looked at her. My eyes were glowing with total adoration. “Yes,” I said, still catching my breath. “You are absolutely incredible. Thank you.”

April wrapped her arms around me and we embraced each other. “You’re so welcome. I just wanted to make you happy,” she said.

“And… you don’t mind it? Like… you don’t think it’s weird? Or gross?” I asked in a timid voice.

April laughed. “What, your kink for diapers? It’s fine, I don’t mind. I think it’s kind of cute, actually,” she said. “It’s kind of fun to see you this turned on.”

My eyes widened. I felt my heart singing for joy.

“I love you so much,” I said to her.

“I love you too,” she replied.

“I’m so lucky I married you,” I said.

“I’m so lucky I married you,” she replied.

We continued lying in post-coitus bliss for another few minutes. Finally, I reached down to my diaper and began to slide it off.

“Ahem. What do you think you’re doing?” April said in a firm voice.

“I guess I should take this diaper off now, right?” I replied.

She sat up. “No, sir,” she said, pulling the diaper back up over my cock. “You got work to do, first,” she said.

I felt a jolt of excitement in my veins. “Like what?” I asked.

April spread her legs out seductively, revealing her absolutely gorgeous pussy. Anytime I got to see it, I felt like the luckiest boy alive.

“Like eating me out, little boy. Because Mommy’s not changing that diaper… until Mommy cums,” she said with a devious smile.

My cock immediately sprang to life again. “Yes, Mommy,” I replied.

I eagerly climbed to the bottom of the bed, leaned forward, and began lapping up April’s delicious pussy. She began moaning as I sucked and teased her clitoris with my well-practiced tongue.

As I licked April’s juicy pussy, I began humping the bed with my quickly growing cock through my diaper.

The sensation of feeling the crinkly diaper against my cock and balls while I tasted and pleasured April was almost as erotic as receiving her blowjob.

After about ten minutes of April moaning louder and louder from my tongue, I felt her hand on my head push me up, causing me to stop.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“You seem distracted… do you have to pee, little boy?” she said with a devious smile.

I blushed. “Kind of,” I replied. “Mommy, can I go to the bathroom?” I asked in a whimpering voice.

“No,” she replied. “That’s why you’re wearing your diaper, little boy.”

My heart fluttered. It was exactly what I dreamed about hearing.

Trembling with nervousness, I turned around, sat on the edge of the bed, and concentrated on wetting my diaper.

My bladder was full. But for whatever reason, I just couldn’t start the stream. My years of potty-training were just too ingrained for me to “let go” right then and there.

I closed my eyes and tried to relax. I tried to picture toilets and waterfalls—anything to get me in the mindset.

But nothing was working. I felt like several minutes were passing by as I sat there, failing to release my bladder.

Of course, the biggest reason I couldn’t relax is that I felt April watching from behind me. I couldn’t stop worrying about whether or not she secretly thought I was weird or gross. Especially now that things were quickly escalating from me just wearing a diaper… to me peeing in one as well.

But then I felt her hand on my shoulder, taking me by surprise. I then felt her lips whispering in my ear. “Come on, Elliot. You can do it. Do a peepee for Mommy. Do a peepee for Mommy in your diaper,” she whispered seductively as she rubbed my shoulder and back.

I took a deep breath and finally felt myself relax. Before I knew it was happening, I heard a distinctive hiss. My urine had begun to flow into the front of my thirsty diaper.

I gasped.

I was doing it! I was peeing in my diaper!

As my hot pee began flooding into my adult pamper, April reached down and placed her hand right on my diapered crotch. My eyes widened with astonishment and excitement.

“Ooooh, it’s so warm. Good boy. Filling up your diaper with peepee for Mommy. Mommy’s proud of you,” she said as she started fondling my crotch through my warm, wet, pee-soaked diaper.

After what felt like several minutes, my bladder was finally finished emptying. I let out a tremendous sigh of relief. My diaper was soaked.

“My my, you really had to go, didn’t you, little baby?” April said as she squeezed my now visibly yellow and soggy diaper.

I blushed and gave a shy nod of “yes.”

“I can tell. This diaper is soaked! Pee-ew!” she teased. “It smells like peepee!”

I suddenly felt self-conscious. I worried that I had somehow crossed a line. “Sorry!” I muttered and stood up.

April grabbed me by the butt of my soggy diaper, stopping me in my tracks.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked me.

“Uh… I was gonna go change in the bathroom,” I replied meekly.

“Nah uh. I don’t think so, mister. You’re gonna lay right back down on that bed and finish eating Mommy’s pussy out, soggy diaper or not,” she said in a lightly scolding tone.

My heart fluttered with a new wave of exhilaration.

We both lay back down and I resumed eating her pussy with thirsty abandon. And this time, my stiff cock was humping a warm, pee-soaked, yellow, soggy diaper as I licked and drank her delicious juices.

I was in heaven.

April’s screaming orgasms ten minutes later told me she was too.

As she finished moaning in ecstasy, we collapsed on my bed in each other’s arms again. April rolled over, and as she spooned me, she held the front of my warm, soggy diaper in her hand as we both faded into a blissful slumber.

As I drifted to sleep, I half expected to wake up and find that none of that evening had even happened. I wondered if it had all just been a dream.

After all, it seemed like it was all just too good to be true. My new, beautiful wife, April, had just made all my dreams come true, right before my eyes.

But fortunately, I woke up the next morning to April smiling at me in my soggy diaper, and it was confirmation that it was all, wonderfully, real.

And every day since then, I’ve known that my wedding night was indeed one of the best nights of my life.

___________

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Excerpt: Little Princess Poopy Pants

(Notice: The following features mature content in an ABDL role-play setting. All characters are over the age of 18. It is entirely fictional and shared for entertainment purposes only.)

“Uh, Mrs. Lockwood… I have to go to the bathroom,” I finally managed to mutter as Mrs. Lockwood sat me back down at my children’s desk in my princess-themed bedroom.

“Nonsense, I took you to the potty just before lunch,” she answered.

It was true. She had escorted me to the bathroom right before my arduous gruel meal. But I didn’t know how to tell her I’d only had to go wee then. Now… I had to do something more.

“Yeah, but ummm… I have to go again,” I said.

“You’ve done fine with one bathroom break in the daytime every day for the last week. Except, of course, the day of your accident, but that’s why you’re wearing a pull-up. Anyway, I’ve been a librarian long enough to recognize a child just trying to get out of their work. And it’s not going to work with me. So get back to it, before I double the amount of lines,” she said, turning to leave.

“Please, Mrs. Lockwood. It’s urgent. I, umm… have to go number two,” I belted out, red-faced and sheepish.

She stopped and turned.

“Really?” she said.

I nodded.

“Well then. In that case, I’ll be back here promptly for your next bathroom break at 3 p.m.”

“What? But that’s hours from now, and I really have to go—”

“Too bad!” she cut me off. “Part of learning to be a big girl is going potty when it’s time to go potty. That happens to have been about one hour ago, before lunch, which is when you should have gone if you really have to go so bad. And now, your next potty break is at 3 p.m., which is far more generous than I typically allow you while you’re at the library, so you should be grateful. But until then, let this be a lesson to you, while you’re holding it, about the discomfort that results from not going promptly at your first opportunity. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I grumbled.

“And just to make sure you don’t even think about leaving your seat before then, I’ll be locking your door from the outside. Oh, and if I come back and check your work and see you haven’t been productive, I won’t let you have your 3 p.m. potty break at all. So get to it,” she said.

I was stunned as she marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her and locking it with a pronounced click from outside.

I could hardly believe I was being denied something so basic as the restroom. It was one thing when it felt like I happened to be trapped in the closet at work, but now, even at home, I was subject to her extremely strict rules about my most intimate needs.

I doubled over in my seat as my tummy let out another loud and painful gurgle. I couldn’t believe this was happening.

But all I could do was take a deep breath, get back to work, and focus desperately on not having an accident. A much, much worse kind than any I’d had yet…

I am a dirty girl who still wets the bed…

The words blurred.

I shifted again, trying to find some position that helped.

Nothing did.

Every movement just seemed to make it worse.

Another cramp twisted through me, deeper this time, and I let out a small, strained whimper before I could stop myself.

There must have been something in the gruel, I thought to myself. Just… hold it…

My legs pressed together tighter. My foot tapped once against the floor before I caught it, forcing it still.

Back straight. Feet still. No fidgeting.

The rules echoed in my head, even now. Even like this.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, breathing shallowly, trying to ride it out. Then forced myself to keep writing.

But my princess pull-ups keep me dry instead…

The irony made my stomach churn.

Minutes crawled by. Every one of them worse than the last.

My writing grew slower. More uneven.

I had to stop every few seconds, clenching, holding, waiting for the pressure to pass before I could move my hand again.

Sweat prickled at the back of my neck. My whole body felt tight. Locked.

I couldn’t think about anything else. Couldn’t focus on the words. Couldn’t focus on the rules.

Just—

Holding it. Holding it. Holding it—

Another sharp cramp hit, stronger than anything before, and I gasped, bending forward, my free hand gripping my stomach.

“Please…” I whispered.

The room felt smaller. Hotter. The walls closing in.

I glanced at the clock.

2:07.

My heart sank. There was no way. No way I could make it that long.

I shifted again, more urgently now, my control slipping in tiny, terrifying increments.

Each cramp felt closer. More immediate. Like it was right there.

No. Not here. Not like this.

I straightened again, forcing the pen back to the paper.

Unless, of course, my pull-ups leak…

It was getting harder to hold. Way harder. Time dragged.

2:23… 2:42… 2:52…

Each minute stretched, unbearable.

I stopped writing entirely, both hands gripping the desk as I leaned forward, trembling, now just trying not to lose control right there in the chair.

“Just… a little longer,” I whispered. 3:00 couldn’t come fast enough.

When it finally did—

I heard it. The click of the lock.

Relief flooded through me so fast it made me dizzy.

The door opened.

“There we are,” Mrs. Lockwood said, stepping inside. “Let’s see how you’ve—”

I shot to my feet…

Far too fast.

Blllllrrrrtttt.

I suddenly felt a hot mudslide explode into the back of my pull-up.

I froze in horror. Then—

Flllllrrttt. Flllllrrrttttttttt. Flrrrrrttt.

I couldn’t help but squat down, my body taking over as I began filling the pull-up with everything I’d been holding back for the past several hours.

“Oh, no, no—” I groaned, frozen in place. “No, no, noooo…”

It kept going.

Heavy. Mortifying. Stinky.

I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t do anything but continue pushing it out. Pushing out wave after wave of disgusting mess up against the back of my poopy-packed pull-up.

When it finally stopped, I heaved for breath as my stomach cramps finally settled.

My face burned as I stood there, helpless, the reality crashing down all at once.

I could hardly believe what just happened. And as I slowly looked up, red-faced and terrified, by her expression, it seemed Mrs. Lockwood could hardly believe it either.

There was a long and painful silence, in which I slowly stood up a little straighter, cringing in horror as I felt the giant mess shifting in the back of my pull-up.

“Little lady,” Mrs. Lockwood finally spoke, “do you care to tell me what you just did in your pants?”

All I could do was shake my head, no.

“Are you telling me I have to check you myself, like you’re a naughty toddler?” she said.

I didn’t reply. I simply kept staring at the floor.

Then I felt her marching over, pulling the back of my nightie up and pulling the waistband of my pull-up out.

“Oh, pee-ew! You are a stinky, stinky little girl! What a naughty, stinky little baby!” she shouted, fanning her nose. “What on earth do you have to say for yourself?”

Tears started rolling down my cheeks.

“I’m… I’m sorry, ma’am. I… I had an accident,” I whimpered.

“I’ll say! You’re one wrong step away from a nasty, nasty blow-out! Pee-ew! Don’t move a muscle,” she ordered.

I stood there while she laid down a baby changing mat on the floor for me to step onto.

“I can’t believe this. Wetting yourself is one thing… but pooping yourself like a baby? At your age? You really are just a big infant, still. I don’t know how you survived this far on your own. Never in a million years did I expect this out of you,” she scolded, laying me down on the floor.

“Neither did I,” I whimpered to myself, cringing in disgust and despair as I felt the nasty, giant mess I’d made smush under my bottom.

“Yep, another big stain on your nightie, too. You’re just going to have to go diaper-only like the little baby you are until I finish shopping for some proper clothes for you,” Mrs. Lockwood lectured as she pulled my nightie up over my head.

I stared down at the pull-up sagging between my legs, now filled to the brim with a giant, stinky mess. She was right—it wouldn’t have survived another step.

The next thing I knew, I felt her opening up my pull-up, then fanning her nose in disgust.

“Pee-ew! How could a little girl like you make such a big stinky mess, huh? Huh? I mean, my goodness!” she teased, making me blush bright red as she used the front of the diaper to wipe off the rest of my bottom.

Then I watched her gather a huge handful of wipes to start the process of cleaning up my bum.

“Well, I’ll tell you one thing. It’s a good thing I just got back from the store with your new diapers. I was only going to make you wear them to bed for your bedwetting, but it’s clear you shouldn’t be wearing anything but true big baby diapers at all times from now on. Not if you’re liable to make messes like this!” she lectured as she continued wiping yucky poop off my bottom.

I turned my head and cried even harder with humiliation. I couldn’t believe I’d apparently just been demoted to diapers 24/7—all because of one stupid accident that wasn’t even my fault.

“Alright, stay there,” Mrs. Lockwood said, finally rolling up the stinky diaper in a big ball with the messy wipes and tying it up in a plastic grocery bag. “I’ll be right back with your new outfit.”

I cried some more as I was left lying on the floor of my new nursery, completely nude, the smell of my stinky accident still heavy in the air. My penis couldn’t have been more shriveled and tiny.

When Mrs. Lockwood returned, she was holding a package of diapers unlike anything I’d ever seen before.

When she took one out and unfolded it, I gasped.

“Isn’t it pretty?” she laughed.

It was a bright pink, super large, babyish diaper with the words “Mommy’s Little Princess” in large letters on the front. It was covered with ponies and rainbows, and overall looked like a diaper for a real baby… but big enough to fit me.

As she covered my crotch in baby powder and began wrapping me up in my brand-new princess diaper, I put my thumb in my mouth without thinking. For some reason, suckling it suddenly gave me comfort.

Mrs. Lockwood just laughed as she finished taping me up in my new diaper prison.

“Oh, that is adorable,” she commented. “My Little Princess Poopy Pants. But don’t think just because you act like a baby, you’re going to get out of your work for the summer, or all my expectations of you around the house. In fact, I’m only going to be all the harder on you, knowing just how much instruction you clearly need.”

And with that, she helped me up and walked me back to my seat in just my large pink princess diaper, putting my pen in my hand and telling me to get back to work.

“I don’t care if you have to stay up past bedtime—you’re not going to sleep until all your lines are finished. You can even poop your pants again for all I care, now that you’re finally wearing a real, proper diaper,” she laughed, finally turning to leave.

Unless of course my pull-ups leak, then real diapers I shall seek…

I started crying again as I realized just how quickly I’d been reduced to a little baby girl. And my time living and working under Mrs. Lockwood the librarian was still only just getting started.

___________

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Excerpt: A Visit to Dr. Leeks

(Notice: The following features mature content in an ABDL role-play setting. All characters are over the age of 18. It is entirely fictional and shared for entertainment purposes only.)

“Oh my god. I can hardly… You didn’t…”

I woke to the sound of Mrs. Pearl loudly sniffing as she stood over my bed. Then she yanked my blankets off with one pull.

“You did! You really did! You naughty, naughty thing!” she said.

“Huh?” I groggily answered. Then I reached up to my hearing aids in terror. Did I remove them again?

To my relief, they were still there. Then what was she so mad about?

“You wet the bed! In fact, you utterly drenched it. Just like a small child. I could smell it from the hallway. You naughty, naughty little bedwetter!” she said.

I looked down in horror to see the puddle I had slept in all night. The dark, soaking wet training pants held back almost nothing compared to the relentless torrent of pee I unleashed the night before.

“I can’t believe you’re suddenly wetting the bed now as well,” she continued. “You know I was joking when I referenced you needing to wear more than training pants to bed. But I didn’t think you would actually start regressing to the full level of a toddler. I mean, this is such a big mess, you absolutely soaked everything here. It’s drenched with pee.

“You did this on purpose just to spite me, didn’t you? You made a big mess just to get back at me for putting you to bed last night, didn’t you? Tell me! Did you pee yourself on purpose, you naughty little brat?” Mrs. Pearl challenged.

“What? No, of course not!” I answered in shock. “Of course I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

But suddenly, the events of the night before flashed through my head.

Was it an accident? I couldn’t have actually done it on purpose, could I? Why would I possibly do that? How could I possibly do that?

“I swear… it was an accident,” I insisted, my cheeks burning red as I questioned the validity of my own statement. In truth, I had less idea of what to make of the situation than Mrs. Pearl did.

“Hmmm,” Mrs. Pearl said, staring me down with pursed lips. “Fine. Well then, it’s clearly time to take you back to the doctor. Another doctor. Because you obviously have a potty problem that’s out of control.”

---

“Dr. Leeks, I don’t know what to do with him. First the wetting accidents, not wiping his bottom properly, now the bedwetting. I wasn’t expecting to have to take on all these medical challenges when I took him in, in addition to his hearing issues,” Mrs. Pearl unloaded.

“I know, it’s a lot. You poor woman, you have a soul of gold. But don’t worry, we’re going to take a look today and see what we can find,” Dr. Leeks replied.

Dr. Roland Leeks was a recommendation from Dr. Cochlear, and it was only thanks to his reference that we were able to see him so quickly for my humiliating, apparently rapidly escalating little issue. It was a fact Mrs. Pearl explained to me repeatedly on our drive to the doctor’s office, as well as in the waiting room, apparently as if to impress on me a sense of gratitude, despite the fact that I didn’t want to be there at all.

After all, I knew all of my so-called “accidents” were ultimately her fault, or the hearing aids fault, or someone else’s fault in some way. I was pretty sure, anyway…

“Alright, son, roll over and pull those pants down for me,” Dr. Leeks ordered.

I very nervously lowered my pants, revealing my humiliating training pants, and rolled over on the exam table, facing the wall.

“Have you had a bowel movement yet today?” Dr. Leeks asked.

“No, he hasn’t,” Mrs. Pearl answered for me.

“And how regular is he?” Dr. Leeks asked.

“Hardly at all,” she answered.

“How would you know?” I piped up defensively.

“Excuse me? Young man, that is no way to talk to the person paying for your doctor’s visits, especially after your horrible behavior for the last several days. Yes, I’m sorry to tell you, but a Nana knows,” Mrs. Pearl explained.

My cheeks burned red as Mrs. Pearl and Dr. Leeks both laughed in unison.

“I’m so sorry about him,” Mrs. Pearl said, turning back to Dr. Leeks. “I’m going to go ahead and use this button for what it was designed for. He’ll be so much easier to handle without the sensory overload.”

Mrs. Pearl pulled out her phone and opened the hearing aids app. And suddenly—silence. The room was completely quiet.

In a panic, I realized I suddenly could hardly hear either of them as they continued their discussion. Instead, their lips were moving, their heads shaking, their expressions condescending as Mrs. Pearl continued talking to Dr. Leeks all about me—except now, I couldn’t even hear what they were saying!

Suddenly, I felt the doctor directing me to roll over again toward the wall. Then, with a sense of panic, I felt him pulling down my training pants to reveal my bottom.

Was I about to get a shot? I wondered in fear. Then, as I felt the doctor’s lubricated fingers suddenly slide between my butt cheeks… and drift downwards… and downwards… I realized in horror what was really about to happen.

I squealed and flailed, hiding my butthole and yanking my underwear back up in terror…

Only to be met by looks of fury and impatience by the doctor and Mrs. Pearl standing over me.

Reading their lips, I could just barely make out the doctor’s words. “I’ll go ahead and call in some assistance. But maybe there’s something else you can do to help calm him down?” he said, leaving the room.

“Oh, yes, I know just the thing!” Mrs. Pearl said.

A moment later, the doctor returned… trailed by three nurses.

And suddenly… nursery rhymes began to play in my hearing aids! Now not only could I no longer hear them at all while they talked about me, I had to listen to wheels on the bus blasting on repeat!

All of a sudden I was surrounded, held down, and rolled over against my will as the medical staff held me in place like a flailing animal.

The wheels on the bus go round and round! Round and round!

I felt my underwear get yanked downward again. And before I could brace myself, Dr. Leeks’s fingers pushed inside me.

I gasped, body arching, hands scrambling uselessly against the paper of the exam table. I burst into tears as I felt his digits plunge further and further into my anus. I felt so helpless and childish. And all I could hear again and again…

The door on the bus goes open and shut! Open and shut! Open and shut!

… while I felt the doctor anally violate me. His fingers plunging deep into my hole, moving to and fro, causing me to wriggle and gasp and shout with a voice I couldn’t even hear.

Everyone looked unhappy with me, and I happened to make out the words “restraints.”

Suddenly I was being rolled over onto my back, and my clothes were being taken away completely! It was all the scarier because I couldn’t hear anything that was going on.

Then, the nurses started strapping me down with various medical restraints. First my torso with a wide belt across my midsection. Then my wrists to the table. Finally my feet were cuffed together, then lifted into the air.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

“Bad baby!” Mrs. Pearl mouthed in my face after delivering three sharp blows to my bottom, making the whole room burst into snickers at my expense.

The wheels on the bus go round and round! continued to blare while I sobbed in horror and confusion.

Then my feet were placed down on the table, and my limp genitals were palmed by the doctor for inspection.

I then watched the doctor take out a long, thin, clear plastic tube.

And suddenly, he was gripping my shriveled penis.

I started to flail against my restraints in a panic, wrists pulling, ankles tensing, but the straps held fast.

Suddenly, I was watching in horror as the clear plastic, thin, lubricated tube was placed into my pee-hole right before my eyes while I squealed.

I felt a hand over my mouth, stifling my screams. It was Mrs. Pearl’s hand. Holding my head so I could watch, but gagging me with her handkerchief.

The horn on the bus goes beep beep beep.

I watched with horror as the tube went in deeper… and deeper… and deeper into my pee hole. Until suddenly…

A yellow spray exploded outward, covering my belly and legs, while everyone in the room laughed uproariously at me helplessly peeing myself.

A nurse moved quickly with baby wipes and towels, cleaning me like I was a toddler on the diaper changing table.

The catheter was quickly removed, causing me to grunt from the strange, violating sensation in reverse. Then I felt hands working efficiently around me. Something soft and thick was brought beneath my hips. I realized what it was before they even lifted me.

“No,” I tried to shout, shaking my head violently. “No, I don’t need that! Please!” I cried.

I stared down in horror at the crinkly garment being laid out beneath my bottom.

I could hardly believe my eyes.

It was a diaper! A full-blown, baby-like, adult-sized diaper!

“Please, no! I don’t want to wear a diaper! I don’t need to wear a diaper!” I screamed, despite not hearing my own voice.

But they continued their work securing me into the garment, taping it shut despite my protests.

I lay there trembling, face streaked with tears, the nursery rhyme still looping mercilessly in my ears.

The babies on the bus go, Wah wah wah! Wah wah wah. Wah wah wah!

Suddenly there was a prick on my arm, and I looked over to see a nurse giving me a shot.

The world started going bleary, the music and lights fading, as I started falling into a sudden disoriented sleep.

And just before passing out, I heard the sound again. The distant stream of running water.

And a sudden familiar warmth was added to the crotch of my diaper.

---

I woke to the sound of low murmuring a short time later. I looked to see Dr. Leeks and Mrs. Pearl talking softly right over my shoulder, half-noticing me as they spoke.

At least the nursery music was gone. But my hearing aid was still turned down low enough I struggled to hear what they were saying, despite making out the odd phrase and occasional giggle at my expense.

“Well, the first line of treatment for bedwetting is nighttime diapers,” Dr. Leeks explained.

“And thank goodness you had them on hand for his sedation. Looks like he soaked this thing already with just his little nap,” Mrs. Pearl said, placing her hand on the crotch of my diaper and squeezing, revealing it to be drenched, much to my horror. It was only then that I could see that it was visibly yellow and the wetness indicator was missing.

“Wha—wha—ba—” I started babbling like an infant due to my sedation, only to be ignored by the two of them.

“But what about his daytime accidents and fecal incontinence? Were you able to find anything wrong with him to suggest a cause?” Mrs. Pearl asked the doctor.

“Not exactly. Which leads us to believe it’s all behavioral to some degree. Even the bedwetting,” the doctor explained.

“What should I do then?” Mrs. Pearl asked.

“Well, my personal recommendation, in terms of behavioral therapy?” Dr. Leeks said.

Then he leaned in a little closer, his voice lowered just out of my hearing range, ironically thanks to the powered-down hearing aids.

But I watched a slow smile crack across Mrs. Pearl’s face as the doctor explained his thoughts, mixed in with the occasional glance of perverse glee in my direction, as I lay there helplessly in just my diaper on the table.

---

“You were a very naughty boy today during your appointment, so guess what? You can walk right out of here in just your diapers,” Mrs. Pearl said to me as she finally helped me up off the table.

“What? But—” I protested.

“Save it! I’m holding on to your pants until we get back home, no matter what. You want to act like a toddler at the doctor’s appointment, you can march your little bottom out of here like a toddler, too,” she lectured as she forced my shoes on my feet without my pants on.

Then she slipped my shirt over my head and started pulling me out of the room by the hand before I could resist.

“Don’t worry, they all heard you screaming about your diapers already from earlier,” she loudly castigated me as she pulled me through the crowded doctor’s office waiting room. “The whole building heard it. You are a naughty, fussy little child!”

I blushed bright red, remembering how I had screamed about not wanting them to put me in a diaper, unable to hear the sound of my own voice.

And now, everyone in the waiting room turned to stare at the freak of an adult young man being led out of the office by his Mommy for all intents and purposes, his diaper sagging, yellow and wet.

The crazy thing was, the super childish, brightly colored hearing aids probably almost normalized the whole picture in all the onlookers’ minds.

They probably thought I was quite “special.”

And the most painful part was knowing… they were right.

I was sobbing by the time we got back to the car. And the whole ride home, the sound of flowing water was louder than ever, causing me to wet my diaper again and again and again the long drive home.

___________

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Excerpt: The Breakfast Enema

(Notice: The following features mature content in an ABDL role-play setting. All characters are over the age of 18. It is entirely fictional and shared for entertainment purposes only.)

The first thing I felt was wetness. Water being squeezed into me, into my behind.

I was groggy and confused.

“Hold still,” my Mommy ordered, pinning my wrists over my head while I felt her squeezing a large rubber bulb into my exposed anus. I realized my diaper had been pulled down just below my butt cheeks. It was early the next morning.

“Hey! What are you—ahhh, what are you—“ I squealed in protest from the incredibly strange and invasive sensation of water being shot up my behind.

Smack!

My cries were answered with a sharp slap to my bottom from my Mommy.

“I said hold still, unless you want a second enema as well right after this one!” she scolded.

I whimpered as I felt my Mommy squeeze the rest of the soapy enema mixture deep into my rectum, making me squirm and whine.

“Every day, you’ll be starting your morning with an enema. If you hold it until after breakfast, you can release it on the potty. If you fail to hold it, and instead use your diaper like the baby you are, you’ll be forced to spend the rest of the morning stewing in your mess,” my Mommy explained.

“I can’t speak enough to how much a daily enema instills remarkably good discipline in a failed potty-trainer. And in any misbehaving little one in general,” I then heard Mrs. Galloway explain to my Mommy from behind her.

Once again, I felt an immediate instinct of panic at being exposed in such a humiliating way to Mrs. Galloway again, but the tight grip my Mommy had on me kept me from going anywhere.

“I’m so grateful you happened to be here when I finally hit the wall with this little brat last night,” my Mommy calmly replied to Mrs. Galloway, as if I wasn’t even there. “Already the supplies and wisdom you’re sharing with me have been invaluable.”

“Oh, please, I’m happy to help,” Mrs. Galloway calmly replied. “I know little Ronald here has been causing you to pull your hair out for months now. I’m just so glad to be helping you take charge again in your relationship. And it just so happens that I have a small lifetime of experience of punishing all sorts of naughty brats in my former career as a specialty nanny.

“Although none quite as big a baby as this one,” they both laughed. “But like I said, I have plenty more supplies where that came from. I just figured I’d bring my enema kit over for you this morning, given all our conversations last night,” Mrs. Galloway explained.

“And I’m so glad you did,” my Mommy replied. “Because you’re absolutely right. The belt can only go so far when it comes to finally putting someone like my naughty Ronald here in his place. We’re gonna have to teach him real humility. If he wants to act like a baby and embarrass me, then we’ll treat him like one all he wants,” my Mommy replied as she finished squeezing off the very last drops of the soapy enema bulb into my bottom.

I immediately wanted to start crying and begging for relief. I couldn’t believe the way they were talking about me, for starters. But far more pressing was how badly I suddenly had to use the toilet!

“Mommy! Please, let me up! I gotta… I gotta…” I started to beg as my Mommy pulled my diaper back up and re-taped it shut.

“You gotta… what? Come with me and Gam-gam to go eat breakfast like a good little boy? Yes, of course you do. That’s what I thought. Because I already said the potty was off limits till after breakfast,” my Mommy said, pulling me to my feet while she and Mrs. Galloway grabbed my arms and started walking me toward the kitchen together.

With every step, I already felt like I was about to explode into my diaper at any moment. By the time we finally reached the kitchen, I was almost relieved to get to sit down and make “holding it” easier by sitting on my bottom.

Of course, my relief was short-lived when I saw a giant plastic highchair in the kitchen full of buckles and restraints.

“Thank goodness I had this number in storage,” Mrs. Galloway explained, helping my Mommy sit me in the adult-sized highchair. “It was donated from a hospital at some point, and now I’m just so grateful it’s getting used.”

Then, when I did get seated, my tummy only started growling and moaning for release even angrier, especially when my Mommy pulled the harness strap over my tummy extra tight.

“Oooooohh,” I bellowed, my stomach ache now feeling unbearable.

“Oh, what a fussy little baby pants we have!” my Mommy teased. “He hasn’t even started eating yet and he’s acting like he’s already full.”

“Don’t let him fool you. He’s gonna whine about every single bite of the baby food mixtures we’re going to force him to eat,” Mrs. Galloway said as she plopped a large bowl of oatmeal and stewed prunes in front of me.

I stared down in disgust, unable to imagine taking a single bite.

“It’s all an act though. We’ll feed him just like a real baby if we have to,” Mrs. Galloway added, suddenly wrapping a bib around my neck and pinching my nose.

Before I even knew what was happening, my Mommy was forcing an extra large spoon of disgusting mush toward my mouth.

“Open up for the airplane!” she said in a sing-song voice, shoving the mixture into my mouth-hole that I was forced to open to breathe.

Both women laughed hysterically as the mash smeared across my lips and chin and down my bib as I choked and failed to swallow the repulsive mixture.

“God, I can’t believe I didn’t see what a baby he was earlier. I mean, look at this! This is just pathetic,” my Mommy cooed, wiping my face with my bib.

“Oh, sometimes it takes finally treating them their age to understand just how immature they really are. Once you see how well a diaper fits them, it’s hard to believe you let them keep soiling their underwear for weeks on end,” Mrs. Galloway commented.

A second bite was shoved into my mouth, this time with me actually managing to swallow some of the putrid mixture, despite my best efforts. Then a third.

Then, as if on cue, I suddenly couldn’t help but lift my bottom as high as I could in my highchair… and explode with a massive poopy mess into my diaper.

Both my Mommy and my new so-called Gam-gam erupted into even more hysterical laughter, making me eat more oatmeal and stewed prunes even faster.

“Oh look, he’s making room for us! What a good baby boy!” Mrs. Galloway joked, peering down the back of my diaper at the big mess I’d just pushed into the rear of my padding.

“Hah! Very funny. But good boys don’t poop their diapers during breakfast. They hold it like a big boy. So someone just earned their first extended session wallowing in their poopy mess,” my Mommy explained.

And as if to punctuate her point, my thighs finally gave out and I dropped back down onto the seat of my poopy diaper mess, immediately making me burst into tears at just how pathetic, gross, and babyish I already had become. Especially with the goopy slop still being forced into my mouth every few seconds, as the two of them made sure I continued gobbling down my disgusting breakfast mush, even in my stinky mess.

“Bad baby!” my Mommy scolded as she continued feeding me. “Bad, stinky baby! You can’t do anything right, can you? Can’t even keep your diaper clean like a big boy for the time it takes to eat breakfast! Naughty, naughty boy!”

“That’s right, Janet, don’t let him manipulate you with his crocodile tears. The moment you let him cry himself out of punishment, you’ll never be in control again,” Gam-gam encouraged my Mommy.

“Oh, don’t worry. I actually like seeing him cry. I like seeing him miserable and suffering like the pathetic little stinky baby he is. Because it’s high time he finally gets what he’s clearly been asking for—being treated the way he behaves,” my Mommy said.

And with that, both women laughed and continued jovially discussing how pathetic I was as they worked to continue forcing down every last bite of the huge disgusting bowl of oatmeal into my mouth while I sat in my first poopy diaper mess of adulthood.

And the worst part was, it was made very clear I now had no expectation of receiving a change anytime soon.

___________

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Excerpt: Sam’s New P.O.T.T.I. Training Rules

[Notice: The following is a fictional excerpt from an adult erotica novel set in an ABDL role-play context. All characters are over the age of 18. Shared for entertainment purposes only.]

Sam continued lying back on the changing table as Nurse Julie continued to busily finger and disimpact his constipated rectum, causing Sam to grunt and moan.

Meanwhile, Dr. Meyers held up a fresh, bright white, Super-Max Ultra adult pamper from behind the ‘Potti-Training’ cart. “The behavioral protocol you’ll be following is an adapted version of what we typically use to help potty train toddlers in difficult or special needs cases. It’s called the P.O.T.T.I. Training System—or the Penalty Oriented Toileting Troubles Intervention Training System,” Dr. Meyers explained. “And the rules are fortunately all very straightforward, so listen up.”

Sam twisted his face in concern. None of this sounded good.

“Rule Number 1: Until further notice, your diapers must be worn at all times. Day and night. 24/7. No exceptions, except while bathing or being diaper-changed,” Dr. Meyers began.

Despite the distraction of his in-progress anal suffering, Sam managed to perk up as his brain caught up to what he’d just heard. Even with everything else he had on his mind… this immediately sounded worrisome.

“Now, given what you walked in here today with, I want to be clear right from the get-go that pull-ups are not an acceptable form of diaper,” Dr. Meyers explained. “Permission may be granted in the future to allow you to transition back to pull-up style briefs. But that’s highly conditional on your overall level of progress and sustained continence improvement in the program.

“But as for now, you’ll be expected to be wearing a properly fastened, tabbed, high-capacity, official medical diaper at all times, as it’s just not responsible to allow you to wear anything with less protection and absorbency.

“That being said, if you see here, you’ll see you’ll actually be going home with two styles of your new 24/7 diapers, for your convenience. A daytime version and a nighttime version,” Dr. Meyers explained.

“What’s the difference?” Sam managed to utter.

“Please, save your questions till the end, Sam, we have a lot to get through,” Dr. Meyers chastised. “But to answer quickly, you’re currently wearing the daytime version now. But the blue nighttime version is almost exactly the same, except it’s 50 percent thicker between the thighs and a full inch taller around the waist to help contain heavy bedtime leaks. Which I’m sure you’ve been cleaning up almost every night with those meager pull-ups you walked in here with, given how severe your incontinence problem obviously is,” Dr. Meyers explained, putting the two diapers back on top of the cart.

Sam found his focus drifting back into the intense physical discomfort of his ongoing anal disimpaction. And as Dr. Meyers continued his long explanation, Sam found his mind helplessly drifting back and forth between the two unbearable humiliations in a surreal fugue state. Learning how he’ll be forced to wear diapers 24/7 in front of him, and being physically penetrated by Nurse Julie’s digits in his rear.

Some part of him wondered if this was intentional. That they wanted him in exactly this state of total physical humiliation and submission while they explained how he was about to be subjected to their program of diapered degradation…

No, no, that was ridiculous! Sam thought to himself, trying to keep a grip. They’re medical professionals! They’re just trying to help me get better, ultimately. I need to stop thinking like a silly, scared baby…

“Rule Number 2,” Dr. Meyers announced, snapping Sam’s attention back to his front. “Going forward, you will be required to adhere to a strict, established, consistent schedule governing all your bathroom and toilet usage.

“To put it simply, you will not, under any circumstances, be allowed to use the toilet outside of your scheduled bathroom visitation times. Nor will you be allowed, under any circumstances, to avoid or skip the act of sitting on the toilet during your scheduled visitation times.

“Now, while this might sound difficult or unpleasant, given the struggles you already face with making it to the bathroom on time, it’s actually the first and most important step toward retraining your bladder and bowels to eliminate on a consistent, predictable schedule. Which is the key to regaining your potty-training in a case like yours.

“Of course, nothing about this process is expected to be easy or immediate. It’s going to take hard work, and have its fair share of difficulty and familiar accidents, especially at the start. But that brings me to the third major rule…”

“Rule Number 3: You are required to record the details and outcome of your every toilet visit, as well as the details and nature of any and all bladder or bowel accidents, in your official Potti-Training Workbook and sticker chart,” Dr. Meyers explained.

Dr. Meyers then held up a large, childish-looking workbook that said The P.O.T.T.I. Training System Learners Workbook.

“Here in your workbook, you’ll have everything you need, including your specific potty schedule, as well as a fun, tear-away chart and stickers you can hang up and use to track your progress,” he explained.

Sam cringed. It looked like it was for first graders.

“Obviously, accurate data is essential to monitoring your progress as your treatment progresses,” Dr. Meyers continued. “You are therefore expected to treat filling out your daily potty charts with as much importance and effort as your attempt to avoid soiling yourself in the first place.

“But in addition to your toilet use and accidents, you are also to begin maintaining a similar log of all your food and fluids consumed throughout the day, any and all exercise or physical activity, your daily hours of work, recreation, or time spent otherwise, and the quantity and quality of your slumber and bathing time.

“I know that all may sound a bit overwhelming at first, but developing the habit of fastidiously documenting every aspect of your daily life at all times in your POTTI chart is essential for discovering any and all possible ulterior factors that may be unwittingly exacerbating your potty-training difficulties.

“Now, you’ll notice your habits and behavior tracking chart has a whole separate row for scheduling and tracking any medication. Because that brings me to…” Dr. Meyers said, holding up the workbook and flipping the page for Sam to see.

“Rule Number 4: You are expected to maintain 100% compliance with your new prescription medication regimen,” Dr. Meyers continued. “That means every dose of every medication must be taken exactly as prescribed and scheduled.

“As I’m sure you imagined, the robust regimen of prescription medications I’ll be sending you home with will likely be one of the most important parts of your incontinence treatment.

“When taken concurrently, the multiple medications will work synergistically to not only begin healing any physical irregularities you’ve developed in your urinary or digestive system, but they are also designed to treat many different psychological and behavioral issues, which are likely also contributing to your long-term potty-training difficulties, given your age,” Dr. Meyers explained.

Sam cringed, not liking the sound of needing to take some meds to help him with his so-called ‘behavior’ problems, but he was far too overwhelmed to possibly say anything at this point.

“Now, I know keeping track of all these different meds may seem overwhelming,” Dr. Meyers continued, holding up a plastic container full of many different prescription bottles, each full of different shapes and colors of pills.

“But fortunately, the Potti-Training System keeps it very simple for you. In fact, you won’t even have to worry about what any of these medications are called or what exactly they do, because all your medications have been conveniently organized by color, size, and shape.

“For example, see, in here you have your little pink circle pill. And according to your prescription schedule, you only have to take this one four times per day—once before every meal, and also before bed.

“And see here, this large orange triangle pill only has to be taken once a day, 30 minutes before your scheduled daily bowel movement. And see, for this one… oh! You actually don’t even have to worry about swallowing this big ol’ blue football-shaped horse pill,” Dr. Meyers said, causing Sam to let out a small sigh of relief. The capsule did seem absurdly large.

“Because instead… it’s actually a suppository! To be taken rectally, once per week, depending on behavior,” Dr. Meyers cheerfully explained, causing Sam to cringe in horror as he felt Nurse Julie twist her fingers in his bottom extra hard just as he imagined having to shove such a pill up his bottom.

“And Rule Number 5: You are expected to complete all your daily POTTI workbook assignments, including all bonus worksheets and relevant journal entries,” Dr. Meyers explained.

“Keeping up with your Potti workbook is the most effective way for you to properly learn the fundamentals of potty-training. Also, in addition to every chapter’s daily readings and bonus activities, you’ll see that the last page ends with a reflective prompt, followed by several more blank pages.

“This is where you’ll be able to perform your daily journaling, and reflect on your overall incontinence treatment and progress so far.

“Further, in the back of your workbook, you’ll also find a whole bunch more wide-ruled, blank pages, that all say at the top, incident specific reflections. This is where you’ll be recording your other type of journal entry—specifically in the immediate aftermath of any potty-accidents you have from now on.

“In general, both aspects of the journaling process are critical to your proper self-reflection and growth during your incontinence treatment program,” Dr. Meyers explained.

Suddenly, Sam gasped as he felt Nurse Julie’s fingers abruptly exit his bottom. The gruff withdrawal was nearly as uncomfortable as the insertion.

“Alright, Doctor, I’m all finished with this evening’s disimpaction,” Nurse Julie announced, changing her latex gloves in front of Sam’s face. Sam blushed as he spotted just how soiled the gloves were from being in his bottom. “I’ll have him taped back up into his diadee for the evening in just a moment.”

“Oh good!” Dr. Meyers said, checking his watch while Nurse Julie dusted Sam in fresh baby powder and re-fastened him into his half-used diaper.

Sam cringed as he felt the cold wetness of his previous wetting (and cumming) accidents on his crotch, and nearly asked for a fresh diaper, before realizing just how infantile and pathetic that sounded…

“Then, in the interests of time,” Dr. Meyers explained, “I’m going to pause to hand you the paperwork you need to sign real quick before we get you out of here…”

Sam felt Nurse Julie unbuckle his restraints, then sit him up on the exam table in just his diaper while Dr. Meyers handed him a clipboard and pen. Sam furrowed his brow as he quickly flipped through the paperwork, hardly in the headspace to read anything difficult at the moment.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s just a boilerplate agreement to let us treat you for your incontinence, basically just like the one you signed before your appointment,” Dr. Meyers explained.

Sam gave a hesitant nod… then felt a sudden painful churn in his tummy. He suddenly really had to number two, which was hardly a surprise given what Nurse Julie had just done to his bottom over the last fifteen minutes.

“And while you take care of that, I’m going to quickly mention the last three rules because they’re fairly obvious and self-explanatory,” Dr. Meyers explained while Sam picked up the pen and started hastily filling out the paperwork.

“Rule Number 6: You are expected to maintain your regular doctor’s appointments here in our office,” Dr. Meyers continued, speaking much faster as he rattled the last few rules off. “We’ll be having you come in for checkups weekly for now, but they may be adjusted to more or less frequent depending on your progress.

“Rule Number 7: You are expected to hereby follow any and all instructions from our office’s staff regarding your Potti-Training or your medical health in general. These instructions may evolve, change, or even contradict earlier instructions or requirements, merely due to the evolving and complicated nature of effectively treating your unique and challenging syndrome.

“Similarly, all the rules thus and henceforth described regarding your Potti training regimen are neither conclusive nor permanent, as your list of rules may grow, shrink, or change in response to your progress or challenges over the course of your treatment. But you are expected to cooperate fully with all of the current rules of your treatment regimen all the same.

“And lastly, Rule Number 8: You are expected to behave in a productive, positive, and appropriate manner at all times for the duration of your incontinence rehabilitation regimen, and avoid any and all behavior that may reflect negatively on yourself or your medical providers, or that may interfere with the effectiveness of your treatment overall.

“This means you will refrain from any and all possible illegal or immoral activities. You will avoid using or ingesting any illegal or unauthorized alcohol, drugs, or substances. And you will refrain from any and all sexual activity, partnered or otherwise, until the duration of your treatment is complete.

“Pornography, masturbation, and sexual self-gratification of any kind are all strictly prohibited. And any accidental or involuntary sexual emissions, along with any unmanageable or irrepressible sexual thoughts or urges, must be immediately reported to your care team,” Dr. Meyers finished rattling off, finally looking back up. “So, now, briefly… any questions?”

Sam looked up and handed the clipboard back, having just finished signing all the paperwork. He had only been half-listening, but suddenly did a double-take.

“Wait, what was that you just said?” Sam asked.

Dr. Meyers frowned. “Are you asking me to repeat all of what I just finished reading? Because I said we need to be brief, so that’s not something I’m going to do. So if you don’t have any actual questions—“

“Yes, no, sorry, I just… what was that you just said about no… ummm… sex?” Sam asked, his face turning red.

“Yes, Sam, that’s correct. It’s a standard requirement for individuals being Potty trained post-puberty, for a multitude of reasons I don’t have time to get into now. But I can’t imagine that will actually be any sort of issue for you.

“I know there’s no possibility of you having a girlfriend or trying to get one while you’re still wetting the bed and pooping your pants at your age,” Dr. Meyers said with a laugh, causing Nurse Julie to giggle as well.

Sam blushed red hot. “No, no, of course not! Or, I mean, yeah, I suppose that’s true. Or it’s okay. But also, I mean, you also said it includes, well… umm…”

“Masturbation?” Dr. Meyers said in a sharp tone, causing Sam to give a sheepish nod. “Well, yes, of course it does. But again, I can’t imagine it being an issue, because you’re not seriously telling me you intend to masturbate in your dirty diapers, are you?

“Because if so, I’m rather stunned and alarmed, to say the least. Because that’s not merely just a hygiene concern, it’s a sign of a serious mental disorder in and of itself, and then we have no choice but to have you immediately sent to the psych hospital after all—“

“No!” Sam interjected. “No, of course not! No, I would never. Sorry, I don’t know why I asked. I guess I was just… ummm… curious. That’s all. It’s no problem, I swear.”

Dr. Meyers frowned at Sam for a moment, then finally nodded. “Fair enough. I suppose it is natural for boys your age to be curious. Especially with your presumable social developmental delays for your age given your bedwetting and accidents still at your age.

“But don’t worry, Sam, I know you’re curious, but let’s get that potty-training taken care of first. Then, when you’re finally wearing big boy underwear again, I can answer all your questions about big boy topics like S.E.X.,” Dr. Meyers explained, spelling it out like he was talking to a baby.

Sam blushed redder than ever as Dr. Meyers and Nurse Julie shared another uproarious laugh at his expense.

“Now, any other questions?” Dr. Meyers asked.

Sam was about to shake his head, no—too rattled and humiliated to talk much more—but then felt his tummy erupt with another painful, seismic cramp.

“When did you say I could use the bathroom again?” Sam asked, eyeing the door to the hallway, hoping he would be allowed to make a run for the bathroom immediately.

Dr. Meyers nodded, then flipped to a page in the Potti-Training Workbook and handed it to Sam. “There you go, your new toilet-visitation schedule. I suspect you’ll have it memorized in no time,” he explained.

Sam read the large, bolded information in the center of the page.

Potti-Trainee Daily Bathroom Visitation Schedule

First Visit — 8am

Second Visit — 1pm

Third Visit — 4pm

Fourth Visit — 7pm

Fifth Visit — 9pm

Note A: All bathroom visitation times require the Potti-Trainee to be seated on the toilet for at least a full 10 minutes, no exceptions.

Note B: Once a bowel movement time is established with the trainee’s first documented BM during one of the above toilet visitation times, that time slot becomes the trainee’s official BM time, and must remain the same each day going forward. The chosen time slot will now consist of a 30-minute period of sitting on the toilet instead of 10 minutes, and the trainee is forbidden from having a BM at any other time going forward. Doing so constitutes a BM accident for documentation purposes.

Sam was immediately alarmed by the restrictive nature of his new toileting schedule in general. But then he looked up to check the time. To his dismay, it was already 7:20pm. He had just missed one of his scheduled bathroom times. The next one wasn’t until 9pm.

“And uh… what if I have to go to the bathroom outside one of those times?” Sam asked, biting his lip as he struggled to suppress the worsening cramps and groans emanating from his bowels.

“Then you’re expected to hold it like a big boy,” Dr. Meyers said coldly. “If this results in you having any accidents, it’s unfortunate, but hardly unexpected in the course of your potti-training. And it ensures you’re at least making your best effort to begin adhering to your new toileting schedule, which is essential to you regaining your continence in the long run.

“But if you do attempt to just use the toilet outside your designated bathroom visitation schedule, it would be a flagrant act of noncompliance with the bare minimum requirements of your outpatient program, and we would have no choice but to immediately enact drastic consequences, up to and including your immediate involuntary admission to… well, I think you get it by now,” Dr. Meyers explained.

Sam nodded, staring into his lap and breaking into a hot sweat as his need to poop became overwhelming.

He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, his thoughts racing. I just have to hold it till I get home, he tried to reassure himself. Just a little longer. This whole stupid appointment is almost over. And as soon as I get home, I can use the toilet the first chance I get, and lie about when I did in that stupid workbook if I need to. It’s not like they’ll actually be able to know once I get back home…

I just need to hold it a little longer…

But as he felt the contents of his tummy erupt with a more painful cramp than ever, he was starting to fear that may be easier said than done…

___________

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Excerpt: Lunchtime & Diaper Rash

(Notice: The following features mature content in an ABDL role-play setting. All characters are over the age of 18. It is entirely fictional and shared for entertainment purposes only.)

I was deliberately harsh and distant with Elizabeth the rest of the day.

For lunch, I walked her downstairs wearing nothing but her heavily soaked, yellow diaper, plastic pants, and straitjacket, and introduced her to her new adult-sized highchair, with a buckling belt, plastic tray table, and all.

Elizabeth didn’t utter a word as I walked her to her new seat and gruffly ordered her to, “Sit.” But I saw in her eyes how alarmed she was by the humiliating, babyish piece of furniture.

“While you remain in your straitjacket, for practical purposes, I’ll be feeding you in your highchair by the spoonful, as feeding yourself won’t be possible,” I explained to her as I buckled her in for lunch.

“Incidentally, this will also be an important aspect of your first steps of behavioral rehabilitation, as it’s clear you need help learning to accept that you are truly dependent on a caregiver now, whether you like it or not. And, it will be a perfect exercise in basic obedience, as I expect you to pay careful attention and do exactly as you’re told while I’m feeding you, and of course eat every bite without resistance or complaint.

“And just to be clear, while I did say I will be spoon-feeding you like an infant, if you do choose to be difficult, we can resort to feeding you through a tube instead, if that’s what it takes to make sure you receive your adequate daily nutrition. Just remember, like many things you’ll be experiencing now while under my care, whether we do them the ‘well-behaved’ way, or the ‘painful and unpleasant’ way, is up to you. And it’s with your behavior that you make your decision. Now, open up,” I ordered, spooning the first bite of cold pasta into Elizabeth’s mouth.

Elizabeth took the bite of food and started chewing, but I immediately scolded her.

“HOLD IT! Open that mouth back up, right now. While I’m feeding you, you are not to close your mouth until I tell you. Otherwise, you could break a tooth on the fork I’m using,” I explained.

I could see the disbelief and frustration in Elizabeth’s eyes as she stared back at me. But she obediently opened her mouth back up and held it open with her mouth full of food, while I made her wait several more seconds just to make a point.

Finally, I instructed, “Okay, now you may close your mouth and begin to chew.”

Elizabeth obediently began chewing her food, but when she automatically started to swallow moments later, I scolded her again.

“Hold it! Young lady, are you listening at all? I just told you I want you to follow my directions exactly. I told you to chew, not swallow. You will continue to chew your food… until I give you permission to swallow, then you may do so, is that understood?”

“Yes, Mommy…” she started to answer.

Smack! I delivered a sharp slap across Elizabeth’s face, shocking the girl and sending the food in her mouth tumbling down her chest.

“Little girl! Don’t you EVER talk with your mouth full under my roof. EVER! You could choke and end up in the hospital, or dead! I don’t ever want to see you do that again!” I screamed at her. “If you need to answer me while you’re eating, you can nod or shake your head.”

Elizabeth was frozen for a moment, so stunned and horrified that I could slap her so savagely. But finally, she raised her head back up and gave a tearful, trembling nod.

“Oh, gosh, look at this mess. I knew I should have put a bib on you,” I said as I grabbed a napkin and began cleaning up the food that spilled out of her mouth.

Elizabeth then began loudly crying, a delayed reaction to the pain and surprise of the harsh smack across her face.

“Aw, I know, sweetie, I’m sorry I had to do that. I just care about your safety so much, I just don’t want you to get hurt, okay? It just really scared me to see you almost choking. But I promise I won’t hit you again like that unless I really, really need to,” I cooed as I dabbed sauce off the chest of her straitjacket.

Elizabeth nodded, still crying. But I wasn’t actually concerned about if I had been too harsh. I had wanted to make sure she knew I had that form of ‘instant correction’ up my sleeve, ready to deploy at any second if need be. A slap to the face like that wasn’t something I planned to use often, but I knew experiencing it once would leave an impression on Elizabeth that motivated her to be on her toes at all times around me… especially while at arm’s length.

I finished wiping up the mess on her straitjacket with a flustered eye roll, then stepped away to retrieve something.

“Okay, now let’s try this on,” I said as I returned with a big plastic bib. I pulled it over her head and snickered as I stepped back to take a look. “Aww, yes, that’s perfect, and it’s so cute! Just what my little messy-eater needs, huh?”

Elizabeth looked down squinting as she tried to read the words on her bib. Finally, she blushed bright red as she realized it said, Mommy’s Stinky Little Princess.

“Okay, now we can finish your lunch without worrying about any more messes on your special little behavior jacket. Especially because it won’t be coming off to get washed anytime soon! Now, open…” I ordered, spooning more food into her mouth.

“Now you may close and begin to chew. Good girl, thank you for waiting,” I instructed, watching Elizabeth chew her food, and waiting quite a bit past the point of it becoming as mashed as it could possibly get between her teeth. “And swallow…” I finally instructed. “Good girl.”

Predictably, it took quite a while to get through the process of feeding Elizabeth the rest of her lunch, but to my surprise, I relished every moment of it. 

Before we began lunch that day, I was actually still unsure how committed I was going to be to asserting such an intense level of micromanagement over the process of her eating.

But as I fed her her first meal in her highchair, every time I witnessed the sense of embarrassment and humiliation in Elizabeth’s eyes as she sat there with her mouth wide open and full of food, waiting for permission to continue like some sort of pathetic puppy with a treat on its nose… I felt an unbelievable rush of control, and I knew I never wanted her to eat any other way again.

When lunch was finished, I helped Elizabeth out of her highchair, marched her back upstairs in her soggy, pee-drenched diaper, lowered the rails of her crib, and ordered her to get in.

“Alright, Elizabeth, here’s the deal,” I explained. “It is now the time when I would normally be putting you down for your afternoon nap.

“However, even though you already received two punishment spankings this morning, the fact is that you also committed several other infractions this morning that you have yet to receive a corresponding punishment for. This includes using multiple curse words, several instances of talking back, and an ongoing, generally rotten and ungrateful attitude.

“But in the name of leniency, given that it is your first day under all your new rules and expectations, I’ve decided to allow you to settle the score for your remaining infractions by simply having you spend the rest of your day here in your crib.

“I expect you to spend your time resting, reflecting on your behavior this morning and how you could have done better, and of course wallowing in that filthy, soggy diaper you insisted you didn’t want me to change. Try to get some sleep if you can, be good, and I’ll be back when it’s time for dinner,” I said.

Elizabeth gave a scared little nod as she looked up from under her blankets, watching me raise the rails of her crib back up, nearly to the ceiling and lock them in place from the outside.

Then I left Elizabeth alone in her new nursery for the rest of the afternoon.

When dinner came, I brought up a small bowl of mashed potatoes, corn and meatloaf, and lowered the rails of her crib so she could sit up with her legs hanging off the side.

Then I fed Elizabeth her dinner by the spoonful, just as I had done downstairs, with verbal instructions dictating her every bite, chew, and swallow.

It was obvious by then that Elizabeth’s diaper was making her miserable. In fact, it had been apparent for the last several hours, as I secretly watched her through the nanny cam cameras in her room.

The way she had winced with discomfort every time she shifted in her seat due to the obviously developing irritation across her bottom and crotch…

The subtle longing and desperation in her eyes whenever she glanced at me, hoping I might take mercy on her and have good news about escaping her filthy pamper punishment…

The way she crossed her legs in that special way that indicated she badly needed to pee, but she was painfully holding it back instead in desperate hope I would change her before she was forced to add even more humiliating weewee to her already swamp of an undercarriage…

But despite her obvious suffering and desperation, Elizabeth didn’t complain a word to me out loud as I fed her her dinner. Not even a single sound of fuss.

I knew the punishments I had given her that morning must have left an impression. Already I was making serious progress with her discipline training. All so far was going to plan!

And yet, as embarrassing as it is to admit… 

I suddenly found myself feeling quite sorry for the girl.

After dinner, I even began to consider offering to take her to the potty before bedtime, knowing just how dreadfully uncomfortable her diaper was going to become by morning.

But I held off, and told myself to stay strong.

Instead, I calmly but swiftly locked her back in her crib, and told her to sleep well, as I wouldn’t be returning till morning. I then left Elizabeth for the evening, just as promised, ignoring the look of despair in her eyes as she watched me go.

After all, I knew there was no better teacher on planet earth than that of a vicious diaper rash on a spanking-blistered bottom. It was the best and only means possible to ensure my little adult girl never took her diaper changes for granted again.

Therefore, I actually had a duty to make sure she suffered a rash so bad this first time that she never dared to risk earning another diaper rash ever again. I had a responsibility to make sure that day’s lesson was permanently seared into her memory so deep, it would be impossible for her to ever forget.

I reminded myself that this punishment, like every punishment, was only for her own good.

___________

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In this jam-packed collection of 18 different diaper domination tales and essays, your wildest diaper fantasies—and darkest domination nightmares—will come to life.

In addition to over a dozen captivating ABDL short stories, this collection also features several entries of Nanny’s Notes—erotic essays written from an ABDL domme's perspective, giving tips, tricks, and day-in-the-life accounts of diaper domination.

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Full List of Included Stories:

Accidents and Diapers at Granny’s

Length: Medium | Tags: Diaper Girl, Granny, Wet, Omorashi, Diaper Change

An adult teenage girl’s summer at her grandmother's house takes a humiliating turn after she begins to suffer from an overactive bladder and its consequences.

Forced to Face my Dirty Diapers

Length: Short | Tags: Diaper Boy, Mommy, Wet, Bedwetting, Punishment

An adult diaper-boy is subjected to a very unique, degrading punishment by his Mommy for his bedwetting.

A Bedwetter’s Naughty Secret

Length: Medium | Tags: Diaper Boy, Nanny, Wet, Messy, Bedwetting

An adult bedwetter finds a very unexpected way to embrace the humiliating adult-sized pampers his nanny now makes him wear to sleep at night.

*Dylan’s Messy Daycare Bottom

Length: Short | Tags: Diaper Boy, Auntie, Wet, Messy, Public Humiliation

Dylan has an embarrassing moment in the corner of the adult-baby daycare.

*Changing Little Bobby’s Humiliating Poopy Diaper

Length: Short | Tags: Diaper Boy, Mommy, Wet, Messy, Regression, Diaper Change, Suppositories, Breastfeeding

An ABDL Mommy shares a story about just how much she loves changing her adult little one’s messy diapers.

*Kelly’s Potty-Training Mouth-Soaping Punishment

Length: Long | Tags: Diaper Girl, Nanny, Wet, Messy, Punishment, Regression, Diaper Change, Restraints, Public Humiliation

Adult teenager Kelly fails to live up to her Nanny’s strict potty-training regimen and pays a very steep, deeply humiliating price.

Tina’s New Stroller

Length: Medium | Tags: Diaper Girl, Mommy, Wet, Restraints, Omorashi, Diaper Change, Public Humiliation

Adult-baby Tina is mortified when her Mommy surprises her with a very special new stroller.

Daisy’s Wet Spanking

Length: Medium | Tags: Diaper Girl, Babysitter, Wet, Punishment, Underwear Accidents, Spanking, Public Humiliation

When Daisy gets caught making fun of her neighbor Stevie for wetting the bed, her babysitter teaches her a visceral lesson in empathy over her knee.

Mommy’s Little Pilot

Length: Short | Tags: Diaper Boy, Mommy, Wet, Messy, Diaper Change, Regression

A loving mommy shares the story of her special little adult-baby ‘pilot’.

From Girlfriend to Dommy-Mommy: A Boyfriend’s Painful Demotion to Babyhood

Length: Long | Tags: Diaper Boy, Mommy, Wet, Messy, Punishment, Regression, Diaper Change, Spanking, Sexual

When a young man’s older girlfriend grows tired of his refusal to embrace adult responsibilities, she takes control of his life as his new dommy-mommy, forcefully regressing him into a humiliating, diapered existence out of his worst nightmares.

A Cozy Visit to Nanna Lynn’s

Length: Medium | Tags: Diaper Boy, Sissy, Grandma, Wet, Bedwetting, Cloth Diapers, Enemas

A loving ABDL Grandma tells you everything she’s going to do to take extra good care of you during your visit to Nanna’s house.

The ‘Breaking-in’ Punishment

Length: Long | Tags: Diaper Boy, Mommy, Wet, Messy, Punishment, Restraints, Spanking, Public Humiliation, Enemas, Sensory Deprivation, Sexual

After officially committing himself to his new mommy, an adult diaper boy is subjected to an unforgettable dose of real diaper punishment for the first time, causing him to question whether he made the best, or worst, decision of his life.

The Diaper Treatment

Length: Long | Tags: Diaper Boy, Mommy, Wet, Messy, Regression, Bedwetting, Diaper Change, Spanking, Sexual, Medical

When a young man's wetting accidents worsen, his mother persuades him to undergo an experimental incontinence treatment—one that, ironically, requires him to become 24/7 diaper dependent.

Essays:

Nanny’s Notes: Turning You Into My Diaper Slave

*Nanny’s Notes: Littles & Their Messy Diapers

Nanny’s Notes: Diaper Domination Accessory Corner — Baby Bibs!

*Nanny’s Notes: The ‘Clothespin Method’ — A Diaper Punishment Technique

Special Addition: Introducing Hugglez BigKidz Snug-Lock Diaper Footy Pajamas!

*Denotes story previously published to Tumblr

___________

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Excerpt:

(Notice: The following story features mature content in an ABDL setting. All characters are over the age of 18+.)

Jordan was still sitting on the floor of the kitchen, rubbing his freshly spanked bottom through his freshly peed-in diaper, while Mrs. Myra stood over him, shaking her head.

“Alright, first thing’s first,” Mrs. Myra said, pulling out her phone. “We’re going to FaceTime your mother, and tell her every naughty thing you’ve done tonight. Including showing her the diaper you wet so she can finally see what a naughty baby you’ve been for herself.”

Jordan felt a surge of panic. “Wait!” he pleaded, coming to his senses a bit after the brutal assault on his padded bottom. “Mrs. Myra, please, wait! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for what I said earlier. I’m just a stupid baby and I didn’t know what I was saying. Just please, don’t tell my mom about what happened tonight. I’ll pay you back for all the dishes I broke. And I’ll clean them all up. And I’ll do anything else you want, I swear. Anything!”

As brutal as his punishment had been so far, Jordan knew that if his mom found out about what happened so far tonight, with him braking every dish in Mrs. Myra’s kitchen and calling Lilly the rudest thing possible, his life as he knew it would effectively be over. He would probably be grounded for the next century.

Mrs. Myra looked down at Jordan suddenly begging on his hands and knees. She paused and put her phone back down.

“Really? Anything?” she asked.

Jordan frantically nodded. “I swear. I’m sorry, I know I really messed up, but please, let me make it up to you. I promise I’ll be so, so good.”

Mrs. Myra stared down at Jordan for another moment. Then a slow, devious smirk crossed her lips. She put her phone back in her bag.

“Alright, Jordy, here’s the deal,” Mrs. Myra said. “We still have a number of your punishments to get through tonight, in order to address your long list of serious transgressions.”

Jordan gulped.

“However,” Mrs. Myra continued. “I won’t tell your mother about all your horrendous acts of misbehavior tonight, so long as you agree to one condition.”

“What’s that, Nanny?” Jordan asked.

“You must accept the rest of your punishments this evening with absolute and total obedience, no matter what,” Mrs. Myra declared. "That means no protesting or complaining whatsoever. No speaking out of turn, or speaking at all, without first being spoken to. And nothing but your absolute and total submission to being treated exactly how we now realize you deserve… which is as a naughty, stupid, diaper-wetting, over-grown baby. Is that something you care to agree to?” she asked.

Jordan’s silently balked, immediately overwhelmed by what Mrs. Myra was suggesting.

“Or…” Mrs. Myra continued, sensing his hesitation, “I can just get back to calling your Mom right now to fill her in on what’s happened so far tonight, so she can help me brainstorm the rest of your evening’s punishments,” Mrs. Myra threatened.

“No, wait! I’ll do it!” Jordan pleaded. “Whatever you say, Nanny. Whatever punishments you think are fair. I’ll do it. Just please, please don’t tell my mom.”

As terrified as Jordan was, he reasoned that no matter what Mrs. Myra put him through, it would still be better to deal with it for just this weekend, rather than potentially the rest of his life, if his mom found out.

Mrs. Myra quietly grinned. “Very good,” she said. “But one more thing. Remind me again, Little Jordy-poo, why I’m granting you this favor? What exactly has caused me to take pity on you? Because… something about you being…”

“Because…” Jordan bowed his head. “I’m just a stupid, pathetic, naughty, diaper-wetting baby.”

Mrs. Myra smiled ear to ear. “That’s right, my naughty little diaper stinker. That’s right,” she said, ruffling Jordan’s hair. “And even though you’ve finally just learned what you really are—a pathetic, diaper wetting baby—tonight, you still have so much more to learn.”

Mrs. Myra then climbed to her feet. “Now then, let’s continue with the evening’s tasks. Next up, cleaning out that horrendous potty-mouth. After all, that language you used earlier was some of the most crude, disrespectful language I’ve ever heard said out loud by anyone. Let alone by a boy who still wets his diapers.”

Mrs. Myra pulled a hard-backed chair out from the kitchen table and placed it in the center of the kitchen. “Come, take a seat,” she gestured.

Jordan slowly got up, reaching to pull his pajama pants back up over his diaper for the first time since Mrs. Myra abruptly yanked them down for his spanking. But she stopped him.

“Oh, no, Jordy. You can step right out of those pants. And you can pull that shirt off, too, and hand them both to me. You won’t be needing them for now,” she said.

Jordan looked up at her in shock, realizing Mrs. Myra was forcing him to wear nothing but his humiliating diaper. But right as he was about to voice an argument—

“Remember our deal, stinky-brains,” Mrs. Myra pre-empted him. “One word of complaint or disobedience, and we do the rest of the night with your mom on FaceTime watching over the whole thing.”

Jordan blushed hotly, but then sealed his lips and pathetically acquiesced. He handed his pajamas to Mrs. Myra, then sat down in the chair, naked except for his semi-wet diaper.

“Now, reach your hands around behind the back of the chair, fingers interlocked,” Mrs. Myra commanded. 

Once again, Jordan obeyed, immediately feeling more vulnerable with his hands now stuck behind him.

“Now, if at any point, one of those hands comes out from behind your back—or if your fingers stop being interlocked for any reason at all, even for a second—I’ll give you another spanking, and we’ll start your whole punishment over from the top. Got it?” Mrs. Myra threatened.

Jordan gave a terrified nod. He then watched with mounting apprehension as Mrs. Myra grabbed a large bar of soap from under the sink and started vigorously lathering it up under the faucet.

“Now, I don’t know where on earth you picked up all that filthy talk you spewed earlier, but I promise, by time I’m done cleaning that foul smut out of your mouth, you’ll never utter a word of any of it ever again,” Mrs. Myra said, walking over with the bar of soap in her hand.

“Not about me,” she said. “Not about your lovely, kindhearted neighbor, Lilly. Not about any woman, to whom you naturally owe nothing but the utmost deference and respect. Now, open up,” she demanded, holding the large, sudsy bar of soap in front of Jordan’s mouth.

Jordan was frozen. He knew he needed to open his mouth to comply, but his gag reflex, combined with his sheer fear, made it feel like his jaw was locked shut.

“One…” Mrs. Myra started counting. “Two… Last chance, Jordan to follow the rules like we agreed…”

Jordan squeezed his eyes shut and finally just barely managed to start prying his jaw open. But that’s when Mrs. Myra lost patience, pinched Jordan’s nose, and the second he opened his mouth to breathe—

“Acckkk!!” Jordan gagged as Mrs. Myra jammed the sudsy bar of soap into his mouth, aggressively scrubbing it back and forth.

“Naughty boy! Those words you said earlier were naughty, naughty, naughty! You filthy, filthy little thing!” Mrs. Myra scolded as she grabbed Jordan’s head by the hair and practically throat-fucked him with the bar of soap.

Jordan felt like he was dying as the overpowering, sickening taste of soap suds filled every inch of his mouth. When he reflexively tried to swallow the puddle of soapy spit pooling in the back of his mouth, he instantly choked and gagged from the awful taste. In order to keep from drowning, his only choice was to let the filthy, soapy slobber start dribbling down his chin and chest, making him feel like a helpless baby while he gagged, choked, and squealed for mercy.

Finally, Mrs. Myra pulled the soap half-way out of Jordan’s mouth and held it there. “Now, bite down,” she commanded.

Jordan looked up with pleading eyes.

“Bite down! Now!” Mrs. Myra angrily screamed.

Without thinking, Jordan obeyed, chomping down hard and cringing as he felt his teeth plunge deep into the gag-inducing soap bar.

“Good little baby,” Mrs. Myra smirked, secretly reveling in the look of sheer misery, disgust, and helplessness on Jordan’s face. “Now keep that nasty bar of icky soap in there until I return to take it out. If it falls out before then, or your bottom leaves that chair, we’re starting over. I want you to use this time thinking about all the naughty, naughty things you said, and how unpleasant it is to have to get that filth washed out.”

Jordan couldn’t help but let out a quiet groan of despair as Mrs. Myra turned to leave the kitchen. The taste of the soap filling his mouth was already unbearable. He already felt like he was gonna gag from the soapy suds once again collecting in the back of his throat.

After less than a minute, Jordan realized he had no choice again but to tilt his head all the way forward, letting the thick, soapy drool pour unimpeded out of his mouth, dribbling down his chin, and making a sticky wet mess, all the way down to his belly, stopping at the top of his thick, disposable diaper.

He felt more helpless than ever as he sat there, literally drooling over himself as if he were an infant, magnifying his feelings of shame and degradation tenfold.

Suddenly, after just a couple minutes, Mrs. Myra returned.

Jordan looked up, his eyes hopeful. Was it at least over?

But his hopes were quickly dashed.

“Ah, how could I forget to give you one of these? It’s the perfect companion to that wet, baby diaper you’re wearing,” Mrs. Myra said, unfolding something and bringing it towards Jordan.

To his absolute and utter horror… Jordan realized Mrs. Myra was putting a bib on him. One she used with the much younger charges she also babysat for. It had Thomas the Tank Engine on it, and was now prominently hanging from his neck.

“Oh, that’s just perfect! You look just like a naughty little baby,” Mrs. Myra cackled.

She then grabbed a broom and dustpan and quickly swept up the mess of broken dishes—an act that seemed to somehow cement Jordan’s infantilism, as she had apparently decided she could no longer even trust him with that task.

As she left the kitchen, Jordan looked down, admittedly astonished by just how transformative the two pieces of clothing were—the bib, and the wet diaper around his waist. He really did look like an overgrown baby, now.

And the worst part was, as Jordan continued to slurp and gag on the nasty punishment soap still lodged in his mouth, he watched as a massive ball of icky, soapy, baby drool poured down his chin…

And landed directly on his bib. Proving that Mrs. Myra was right, he absolutely needed his bib, just like a real messy baby.

(The following was first published on: July 3, 2024)

Excerpt:

(Notice: The following story features mature content in an ABDL setting. All characters are over the age of 18+.)

Ginny remained laying back on the padded medical exam table, her legs and feet propped up and secured with straps in their stirrups, her naked groin and buttocks fully exposed.

She felt a chill go down her spine as she watched Nurse Sunshine roll a cart over stocked to the brim with all manner of invasive looking medical supplies—from lubes, gels, ointments, and suppositories, to shiny metal speculums, catheters rubber and plastic, long and short, to clamps in every size, large enema bulbs and even larger enema bags, incontinence pads, baby wipes, endless medical straps, tubing, probes, and seemingly so much more.

Nurse Sunshine then wrapped a heavy, pastel-colored, rubber apron around herself. Then uncapped a large vat of medical-grade lubricant and scooped up a generous amount with her latex glove covered hand.

“Umm, excuse me, Nurse Sunshine?” Ginny squeaked in terror. “Can you maybe remind me what exactly you’ll be doing again?”

“Oh, nothing you need to be nervous about, dear,” Nurse Sunshine explained. “I’ll just be spending some time taking a closer look at your post-incontinence-procedure surgical area in order to check for proper healing, sensation and functionality. You can expect some gentle probing and stimulation in certain spots, but nothing uncomfortable. Or at least, nothing too uncomfortable. As long as you stay relaxed. That’s very important, that you stay relaxed,” Nurse Sunshine answered.

Ginny couldn’t help but immediately tense up at the nurse’s description. Then, as she watched Nurse Sunshine approach her naked crotch between her restrained and splayed out legs, Ginny felt a sudden sense of panic. She suddenly realized that she couldn’t even see what was happening! Her stupid bear-printed hospital gown had been strapped up with her elevated knees, resulting in an inadvertent curtain, preventing Ginny from even seeing her own exposed groin!

“Ummm, excuse me, but before you start, would you mind actually undoing the straps on my knees so I can at least pull my gown down, so I can see what’s happening?” Ginny nervously asked.

“Sorry hon,” Nurse Sunshine answered. “But it’s office policy that no restraint straps come undone mid-exam for patient safety. Not to mention that we’re already running short on time, because of how long you spent in the bathroom earlier. But don’t worry, it’s actually probably for the best that you’re not concerned with trying to see what I’m up to. All you need to do is lay back and relax, until I tell you otherwise, okay?”

Ginny audibly grumbled and whimpered in disbelief as she dropped her head back in defeat. She felt like she was starting to lose her mind with just how little control she had over anything.

“Oh, calm down, Miss Drama Queen, I’ll try to give you fair warning about what I’m doing down here, when I can,” Nurse Sunshine said. “But really, you have nothing to worry about. All you have to do is focus on staying relaxed and loose, okay? Can you be a big girl for me and start to relax?”

Ginny frowned, feeling insulted. But then, adding injury to insult, Nurse Sunshine gave Ginny’s naked bottom a light, playful slap to drive the point home, leaving Ginny stunned and mortified beyond words.

“Come on, darling, lighten up, I promise I’ll be gentle,” Nurse Sunshine said with a laugh.

Ginny was feeling downright furious, now. And her sense of anger and violation, combined with her mostly nude body being exposed to the exam room’s frigid AC, left her feeling pretty far from ‘relaxed and loosened up’ in her most sensitive orifices, to put it mildly.

Then, adding to her mounting discomfort, as her body shivered from the cold air, her worsening nerves, and her ever-increasing anxiety, her bladder began to really start aching for release again. Not only that, but the cramps in her bowels also began to return, resulting in painful urges of both kinds of potty-desperation that now took all her effort to hold back.

But as angry and tense as Ginny was at Nurse Sunshine and the situation as a whole, she was hardly allowed to retreat into herself for very long. Suddenly…

“Ooh!!” Ginny shrieked as she felt something ice cold abruptly press between her butt cheeks.

“Relax, little lady, that’s just my finger,” Nurse Sunshine laughed. “I haven’t even inserted anything anywhere, yet. I’m just warming you up a little.”

Ginny’s whole face burned red with anger and humiliation. She couldn’t believe this was happening.

And yet, at the same time, on some level, Ginny realized Nurse Sunshine was right. Ginny did need to relax for her own good. Because the examination was going to proceed whether she wanted it to or not. Even though she was furious with this woman, Ginny knew she had to try to drop it for now and cooperate to the best of her ability, anyway, for her own sake. She had to let go…

Well, ‘let go’ of her defiance, anyway. But not ‘let go’ of her mounting potty-pressures, of course, which she was more keenly focused on keeping hold of than ever, given the impending physical examination apparently in that exact area…

“Here, this might help,” Nurse Sunshine said as she reached behind her. The lights in the room suddenly dimmed.

Ginny looked around to see that the exam room was mostly dark, now, with just a couple of small fixtures practically providing mood lighting. She had to admit, it did actually help a lot to no longer have a blinding fluorescent ceiling light shining directly into her face.

Ginny put her head back, closed her eyes, and tried to take deep breaths and relax best she could, despite not being able to even see what exactly the nurse was doing to her down there.

She then felt Nurse Sunshine getting back to work between her legs. 

Ginny felt the nurse rubbing her lubricated digits up and down Ginny’s butt crack and around her rosebud. And as on edge as Ginny was, she had to admit… she was glad she could feel those fingers at least start to warm up that area, compared to the ice-cold sensation she felt before.

“There we go, that’s better, nice and relaxed. See? Nursie Sunshine’s just trying to help, I promise…” Nurse Sunshine cooed.

Then, without any warning—“Oooooohhh!”

Ginny squealed in shock as she felt the nurse plunge her digit directly into her bottom hole. As Ginny gasped for oxygen, she felt the nurse slowly begin to move her finger around, wiggling it back and forth inside her, before sliding her finger half-way out… and plunging it right back in.

(The following was first published on: May 31, 2024)

Excerpt:

(Notice: The following story features mature content in an ABDL setting. All characters are over the age of 18+.)

As I sat up in my crib in my crinkly pull-up diaper, my eyes squinting from the morning sun, I thought about how it had been about a week since the incident with Aunt Hazel. And about a week so far of being forced by my mom to wear humiliating pull-up diapers every night.

I looked across my bedroom-turned-nursery at the dormant diaper changing table and was confronted by the humiliating irony. I suddenly remembered the specifics of what I had fantasized about on the night of the incident, during the heat of my out of control, shameful, perverted fantasies about my Aunt Hazel…

I cringed, hating myself more than ever for my perverse, infantile desires that night. I hadn’t had so much as an erection or a sexual thought since, and I aimed to keep it that way. 

Frankly, I was eager to swear off my deeply inappropriate, forbidden fantasies from that night for forever. And now that I had been forced to actually suffer the humiliation of wearing a diaper, even just a bedwetting pull-up, I was sure I would never have those perverse, infantile thoughts involving my aunt or anyone else ever again.

I sat up and stretched, resolving to hopefully just put the whole humiliating ordeal behind me, from the fantasies, to the consequences of the lie I had to tell to cover up my subsequent mess. After all, I was sure that my mom would stop making me wear these stupid pull-up diapers to bed soon, anyway, given that I had only woken up dry every day since it started. I sure hoped so, anyway…

But that’s when I suddenly felt an unexpected, sharp twinge in my bladder.

I suddenly realized I needed to pee. Bad.

It wasn’t unusual that I needed to pee in the morning when I first woke up. But this morning, it felt unexpectedly urgent.

I thought back to the night before, when my mom had given me a large glass of warm milk after dessert, which seemed to put me to sleep pretty quickly afterward, even at my early bedtime. No wonder I really had to pee this morning.

I jumped out of bed, ready to make a run for the bathroom down the hall. Immediately, the pressure in my bladder went from urgent to painfully desperate, just from standing upright.

I ran to the door of my bedroom, went to yank it open and…

The door didn’t budge.

For some reason, the handle wouldn’t turn. I tried it again. And again. I started frantically twisting and yanking and throwing my full weight on the doorknob, trying to get my door open, all to no avail. 

I finally realized… my bedroom door was locked from the outside.

I remembered that my mom had switched the lock to the outside of the door when she transformed my bedroom into a nursery. Somehow, it seemed I had gotten locked in. One of us had probably locked me into my bedroom by mistake.

I was trapped.

I stood there in horror, naked except for my pull-up diaper, feeling as the pressure in my bladder was quickly becoming unbearable. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to hold it for much longer.

I began to panic.

“Mom? Mom!” I shouted out, pounding on the door. “Mom, are you out there? Mom! Mom!!! I think the door is locked, Mom! Please, come help me!!”

I frantically screamed and banged on the door louder and louder. But when I paused to listen, I still heard no sign of her. I realized she probably left the house to run errands that morning. If so, I had no idea when she might be home.

I turned around and started pacing back and forth in my nursery, hunched over in pain and squeezing my hands to my crotch. I racked my brain, desperately trying to think of what to do. I suddenly had to pee worse than I’d ever had to pee in my life! I needed to get to a bathroom, right now!

Of course, as I frantically looked around the room for any possible solution, the most obvious one was staring me in the face when I glanced down…

I was wearing a diaper. A Goodnites, bedwetting pull-up. But a disposable garment, made for exactly the purpose of peeing in, nonetheless.

But no! I swore to myself. The idea of it was mortifying. There was no way I was going to actually use the humiliating thing my mom made me wear for my non-existent bedwetting. There had to be another way!

Suddenly, I heard movement downstairs. I stopped and listened.

It sounded like my mom coming through the front door!

“Mom! Mom, up here!” I shrieked, running to the door of my bedroom, frantically banging and screaming again. “Mommy!!! Mommy, come help me!!!”

I paused, heaving for breath, desperately waiting for her to appear outside my door and save me. My bladder ached in agony. I crossed and twisted my legs. Just a few more seconds, I told myself. I only had to hold it for a few more seconds…

“Mommy!?” I called out again, my ear pressed to the door.

Silence.

My heart sank. Did I mishear? Was that not actually her downstairs? Or was she actually leaving the house, not coming home, and I just missed her?

Beads of sweat formed on my face as I felt a new sense of hopeless panic sweep over me. At a loss, I spun around to continue my frantic, desperate pacing. And just as I took a step—

“Bryan!”

Startled half-to-death, I spun on my heels. My mom was suddenly standing in the open doorway of my bedroom, right behind me.

“Bryan, what’s wrong? Why were you screaming?” she asked.

I stood in the middle of my nursery, staring back at her with a slack jaw, suddenly unable to move or speak.

“Bryan? Are you okay? Did you need me or not?” she repeated, folding her arms and staring at me.

But I was still helpless but to give a distant, vacant stare. It took me several seconds before my brain finally realized what was happening. And when it did… I just about wanted to die.

Hissssssssssssssssss…

I realized I was peeing. I was wetting my pull-ups, right then and there, right in front of my mother, while she crossed her arms and impatiently stared me down.

(The following was first published on: Nov 28, 2018)

Excerpt:

As a dominant woman, there is nothing more pleasing to me than the process of regressing adult submissives back to diapers.

My eyes (and my groin) savor every chance I get to watch someone who formerly prized themselves on their independence, maturity, and adulthood, be forced to wear diapers 24/7, dress like a toddler, and depend on their caretaker for their most intimate needs.

But why is Diaper Domination so effective?

The first and most basic answer to this question is that toilet training is a cornerstone to the psychological development of every human being. There is no need more universal than the need to relieve one’s bladder or bowels. Having one’s basic toileting needs converted into the humiliating act of using a diaper and relying on a caretaker to change them out of their mess is an exquisite tool of domination in of itself.

As a caretaker, I have learned to revel in the sight of one of my submissives quietly going into the corner after lunch to ‘do their business’. Watching them reckon with the fact that they no longer have basic privacy in regards to their toileting, let alone the infantile sensation and humiliating smell that follows their primal act, gives me an enormous thrill and surge of power.

But the second answer goes beyond the simple (yet profound) act of requiring the submissive to use diapers for their toileting needs.

I believe that successful diaper domination also entails regressing the submissive back to so many other wonderful aspects of toddlerhood — from being confined in a crib, to nursing with nanny, to wearing clothes that amplify and celebrate the submissive’s newly diapered state.

Therefore, while ‘Diaper Domination’ is a useful shorthand, a more full title for the method described in this guide might be ‘Adult-Baby Transformation’ or ‘Psychological Diaper Regression.’

Let me expand further by giving an example.

Imagine dealing with a disrespectful adult male housemate who consistently failed to clean up after themselves, played their music too loud late at night, and generally treated you with a very rude and disrespectful attitude.

Now imagine said rude housemate after you’ve successfully submitted them to your authority by means of the diaper domination method.

In the place of arrogance and rudeness, you would have sweet baby talk and laughter.

In the place of their laziness and taking you for granted, you would have an obedient boy who did all the chores you required him to do lest he face strict punishment.

And in the place of a man’s terrible hygiene and etiquette in your house’s bathroom, you would now have complete control over all of their bodily functions (and your bathroom back). You would totally determine their state of cleanliness as you changed their diapers while they held their hands above their head and sucked their paci, grateful to be under your complete control.

That’s because the process of diaper domination is a process of psychological transformation. 

The material tools and techniques of diaper domination are designed to do far more than regress your submissive in appearance, (although it does make them adorable, I must say!). 

It regresses their whole being to a psychological development stage they thought they long ago left behind.

I believe diaper domination is magical, not just because it changes submissive’s behavior. It also transforms their mental and emotional age to whatever you would like it to be.

If you’d like to read more of my thoughts on diaper punishment, check out my newly released guide, where I give you a full 101 tools, techniques, tricks and tips to help you regress your Little and keep them in line!

In this massive guide, you will learn:

- How to regress your submissive back to diapers through various techniques and tricks.

- How to do all the activities needed for your new Little, including diaper changes, feeding and play time.

- A long list of rules for you to implement for your Little.

- Dozens and dozens of punishments for breaking those rules.

- And countless techniques and methods you can use to restrain, humiliate, punish and dominate your Little completely.

___________

Buy on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KXSPZQG

Buy on Google Play:

(The following was first published on: Mar 8, 2022)

Excerpt: 

Techniques #7, #8, and #9 for Punishing a Dirty Diaper Masturbator

Technique #7: Bottom Stuffing — Dildos, Butt Plugs, and Other Bottom Toys

We are now moving on to more advanced techniques of punishment:

Implementing dildos, plugs, vibrators, or other ‘toys’ to give your submissive a ‘stuffed bottom’ for the evening (or any amount of time you deem necessary, for that matter.)

“Since it seems you can’t help but reach where you shouldn’t because you want to play in your diaper, Mommy’s decided to give you a special toy to play with in your diaper all night!” you’ll explain to your little as they lay helplessly beneath you on their diaper changing table.

They’ll no doubt squeal as you penetrate them, stretching out their tiny hole with an oversized rubber phallus. You can even press their wet or messy diaper to their private parts as you do it, reminding them of their filthy deed as they squeal from the penetrating punishment.

In addition to the initial insertion itself, stuffing your little one’s bottom accomplishes two things in terms of punishment:

Firstly, the stuffing itself is an invasive, deeply humiliating and uncomfortable reminder that you are in charge of what’s in their diaper, not them.

As they move about in the hours afterward while ‘filled up’—perhaps rolling around in their crib late at night, or perhaps just coloring on their play mat during the day—they will constantly feel their ‘special new toy’ penetrating them, widening them, stuffing them at all times.

They will be forced to think about their naughty, filthy, diapered self-abuse every time they feel the discomfort of the toy in their bottom cavity. And they will associate the humiliating, helpless, private penetration in their diaper with their masturbatory misdeed.

The other, perhaps even more sinister effect of a proper bottom stuffing, is that anal penetration is highly likely to incite the exact same naughty, perverse feelings in your little one’s diapered loins that led them to their filthy misdeed in the first place, and to a much more intense degree.

To quote a scientific article on the topic to prove my point:

Anal sex toys stimulate the nerve endings inside your anus. For penis owners, some anal sex toys are designed to stimulate the prostate. For vulva owners, anal sex toys can apply pressure to the anterior fornix erogenous zone, also known as the A-spot, located inside the vagina between the cervix and the bladder.

With the proper restraints implemented (which I’ll explain in much further detail in a future chapter) suffering the inescapable, unsatisfiable, insatiable arousal induced by ‘Mommy’s toy’ in their diaper all night, is an exquisite punishment in of itself.

And if they whine about the toy you’ve stuffed them with, just remind them that they shouldn’t have been so eager to play down there in the first place, then!

Technique #8: The Castor Oil Method — A Most Sinister of Cures

This next technique is particularly messy, sinister, and utterly infantilizing—all to remarkable effect.

As you prepare your diapered little one for bed, strap them down in their high chair, and give them three spoons of caster oil as punishment for catching them in the act of their sinful diapered pleasure the night before.

As you shove the repulsive, large spoonfuls of foul, sticky oil into their mouths, explain to them:

“Since I can’t trust you to be alone in your diaper without sticking your hands where they don’t belong, I’ve decided to give you enough baby medicine to keep you so occupied all night, that I know you’ll be too distracted to disobey me again.”

If your little one is still blissfully unaware of the effects of castor oil, they will very quickly become acquainted after you tuck them into their bed and lock the bars of their crib for the night.

First, they will very quickly succumb to intense cramps, and their urge to have a bowel movement will almost immediately become overpowering.

Most likely, they will attempt to avoid soiling themselves so early in the evening, if they still have any back-end continence at all, as they’ll know they will be forced to sleep in their poopy mess all night.

They’ll no doubt toss and turn for some time after you put them to bed, biting their lip and clutching their tummy, desperately trying to hold back the inevitable.

Almost certainly, they’ll lose that fight before long. And they’ll squeal in discomfort and embarrassment as they instinctively get on their knees, hold the bars of their crib…

And finally helplessly explode with a massive, poopy mess into the back of their diaper.

As they catch their breath, they’ll struggle with the fact that they need to lay back down in their crib to sleep. And as they do, they will cringe in disgust as they feel their warm, stinky mess sloshing up and smearing across their backside.

For the vast majority of little ones… their stinky, poopy diaper will prevent them from attempting any ‘naughty exploration’ for the rest of the night. If only because they fear their poopy mess might then escape the confines of their diaper.

But that might not be the case for all. And as a caregiver, you may in fact be dealing with a little one, who is in fact, of the most perverse of dirty diaper masturbators. The most naughty of potty-pants who would still even attempt to satiate their filthy, horny desires, even in a loaded, poopy diaper…

But that’s the wonderful nature of castor oil’s unique laxative effects.

Castor oil specifically ensures that your little one doesn’t just have one poopy accident… its laxative effects will ensure continued painful bowel cramps for many, many hours after its administration.

Therefore, even the filthiest of dirty diaper masturbators will find it hard to stroke or finger themselves as they curl and groan from the constant waves of poopy discomfort, their bowels betraying them all night, turning them into a leaky, humiliating faucet of baby-like poopy incontinence.

Needless to say, after suffering tossing and turning in an overloaded, extra poopy diaper and leaky, poopy bottom all night, your charge will certainly be far less likely to risk being caught with ‘naughty fingers’ in their diaper again.

Also, again needless to say, you’re going to want to double diaper them, perhaps even triple diaper them, and secure their diapers with thick plastic or rubber pants, before you put them to bed for the night.

After all, in the morning, you’ll surely be dealing with one of the messiest diapers you’ve seen on your little one yet. Better do all you can to avoid the even bigger mess of a full-blown messy diaper blow-out!

I warned you this method was sinister. 😉

Technique #9: The ‘Special Milk’ Punishment

Finally, the classic punishment for the crime of unauthorized ejaculation… is to force your submissive to consume the very material consequences of their naughty behavior.

Of course, this is likely to be more fruitful for little ones with a penis, but those with a vulva can still have their ‘filthy downstairs juice’ made use of as well.

A classic technique for naughty diapered boys is to catch them immediately after they’ve ejaculated. With their diaper open, their body limp from their unavoidable refractory period, you should use your surveillance tools available to ensure that you arrive right when you can catch them at their ‘stickiest’.

Approach them in silent disgust and disappointment.

Then, tell them to open their mouth wide, wipe up their puddle of cum with your fingers, and shove your sticky fingers in their mouth, demanding that they suck your fingers like a binky, sucking and swallowing until your fingers are nice and clean.

Rinse and repeat. Don’t stop until you’ve forced him to swallow every last bit of his warm, salty mess, the filthy consequences of his utterly shameful behavior.

And privately, enjoy every moment of the humiliated, disgusted look on their face, as they are forced to suffer the embarrassment of sitting in their soggy diaper and eating their own cum as you watch, any sexual drive they had before, now evaporated post-orgasm.

This uniquely culinary punishment alone can do wonders to make your naughty little one immediately regret their choice to satisfy their filthy, diapered urges behind your back, and might be enough to instill a proper disgust at such naughty behavior.

But you may also choose to pursue a more advanced ‘special milk’ technique.

The goal is to collect much more cum over a period of days. Enough to fill a full baby bottle.

This can be done through a regular routine of ‘forced milkings’ from your diapered submissive. But perhaps preferably, you can recruit the help of other, non-diapered, willing male donors. For example, a visiting boyfriend of yours, a male house slave you might have, or perhaps from a festive get together of all your horny adult male friends. (Perhaps even from a potential future Daddy for your little one!)

Once you either have enough ’special milk’ to fill a baby bottle, or perhaps enough to spread the salty seed over a series of bottles mixed in with normal milk, push the rubber nipple of the ‘naughty milk’ bottle into your naughty diaper boy’s mouth, tell them exactly what’s in the bottle and where it came from, in great detail, and force them to drink every last drop of ‘the sinful excretions they seem to like so much.’

Repeat as necessary.

I promise, it won’t take long for your little one to decide they never want to see or smell the yucky, sticky, consequences of their naughty orgasms again, lest they continue to be forced to swallow every last warm, salty drop of it!

___________

Buy now to read the rest of this full-length (200+ pages) guide!

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(The following was first published on: Apr 18, 2024)

Excerpt:

(Notice: The following story features mature content in an ABDL setting. All characters are over the age of 18+.)

It was on the way to the grocery store that I noticed the first signs I might be having an upset tummy.

Sitting in the back of my Mommy’s van, I felt gurgling, twisting and rumbling as we drove, causing me to wince with every bump. It seemed more and more like something in my breakfast wasn’t agreeing with me.

I took deep breaths and tried to put the growing discomfort out of my mind, hoping my tummy would settle down on its own, shortly.

But in the back of my mind, I had a growing fear that the rumblies I was wrestling with might mean I would need to take a dump sooner rather than later—far earlier than my usual after-dinner BM schedule.

The issue was there was no way I was going to be able to go number two while we were out of the house, and I knew we wouldn’t be back home from running my Mommy’s errands for at least several more hours at this point.

That’s because there was no way I could bear using a public toilet to poop. This week, especially.

In the first place, I’d always been terrified of pooping in a public toilet outside my house, even before I met my Mommy. It was one of my greatest fears.

But then, add on to that my Mommy still currently required that she supervise me while I was using the toilet, even in a public bathroom.

It was already nearly impossible trying to brave the humiliation of pooping in front of my Mommy while she watched me at home. The idea of having to poop in a public bathroom while she stood in the stall with me, narrating it for anyone else in the restroom to hear, was unimaginable.

But finally, there was the fact I was still only three days into my so-called ‘potty-probation’. And that meant I was still wearing a diaper 24/7, including right now.

I was forbidden from using my daytime diapers, of course. (Pottying in my diapers was the last thing on earth I wanted to do, anyway.) But the terms of my potty-probation were that every morning, my Mommy changed me out of my soggy bedwetting diaper, and into a fresh daytime diaper—one I was not to use.

Then, similar to my previous potty-training rules, whenever I needed to use the potty, I needed to ask my Mommy to take me, so she could bring me into the bathroom and carefully un-tape my diaper.

Before she even allowed me to sit on the potty for my supervised toileting, she carefully inspected the bright white interior diaper padding for any signs of, “visible continence failure.” Or, as she translated for me to understand, “Any oopsie peepees or whoopsie poopies in your diadees!”

Only when she deemed that my diaper was still, “appropriately unsoiled”—that is, “no yucky doodie or peepee stains”—did she let me sit on the potty to do my business.

Then, when I was finished using the toilet, I would then be made to lay on a vinyl baby’s diaper changing pad on the bathroom floor so she could properly diaper me back up, often with a fresh application of baby powder or extra tapes, if necessary.

With all the other difficulties involved with using a public toilet to go number two at this point, I just couldn’t imagine also being forced to do it all with an extremely humiliating, noisy, noticeably crinkly diaper that needed to be taken off by my Mommy… let alone put back on while I laid on the floor for all to see!

So, even though by time we arrived at the grocery store, my tummy rumbles had already begun to transform into painful urges and cramps in my bowels like I feared… I was still more determined than ever to just hold it till we got back home.

After all, it wasn’t like I actually needed the stupid diaper I was being forced to wear under my pants. I wasn’t actually a stupid baby. I’d be able to just hold it like a big boy until we got home, no problem.

… right?

* * * 

“Do you need to go potty before we start shopping, hon?” my Mommy loudly asked me as we walked through the front doors of the grocery store. “Does my little guy need to potty?”

I blushed and stared down in embarrassment as several nearby patrons glanced in our direction, all of them cringing with pity and / or discomfort at seeing someone my age still needing to be talked to in such an infantile way.

“Well? Answer Mommy when she asks you a question,” my Mommy repeated even louder. “Do you need Mommy to take you to the potty before we start shopping, or not? Do you need to go weewee? Because I don’t want to take a potty break once we get started, hon.”

I bit my lip, suddenly shyly hesitating.

The thing was, the second she asked if I had to pee, I realized, in fact… I did.

It was humiliating how well she seemed to know when and how often I needed to go to the potty lately. Seemingly even better than I did. Just like a Mommy potty-training her little boy…

But the problem was, my tummy was now in such distress, and I was so focused on holding back my urgent need to go number two, I suddenly felt terrified that if I tried to pee… I might lose control of my bowels. And if she decided to stand me at a urinal to pee (which she often did if we were out and about and she was in a hurry), I might shit my pants.

It was too risky. I just needed to wait until my stomach settled a little bit, first, I told myself. I would pee when my tummy cramps finally weren’t so bad.

“No, I don’t have to go potty,” I answered, my cheeks turning a bit red, perhaps betraying my fib.

“Are you suuuuuure?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I gave a shy nod. It occurred to me how silly it was that I was once again lying to my Mommy about not needing to potty. But what else was I to do?

“Hmmm, I don’t know,” my Mommy said, as if reading my mind. She grabbed me by the wrist. “I think we learned last time that I’d better take you anyway—“

“Excuse me, ma’am?” A stranger suddenly interrupted my Mommy, stopping her in her tracks. “Would you like to sign up for our store’s free savings program? You can save up to 30% off on every visit with just your email address.”

To my surprise, my Mommy stopped and suddenly seemed to get swept up in some sort of boring adult conversation with what looked like someone who worked for the store.

I slowly drifted behind her while she held my wrist, taking the opportunity to catch my breath and ease the cramping in my bowels. I really, really didn’t want to be taken to the potty at the moment. Especially now that I could tell from the way my guts were rumbling, it was going to be a sloppy, loud, potentially even painful bowel evacuation I was in for, which made me all the more desperate to avoid doing it in a public bathroom.

I just needed to focus on holding everything for now…

Suddenly, I realized my Mommy was finished with the conversation. But funny enough, by time she was finished, she seemingly had forgotten she was about to drag me to the bathroom to pee against my will.

Instead, it seemed she got distracted by a sale at the end of the aisle, and was now quickly pulling me along as she grabbed a cart and started her grocery shopping.

I was incredibly relieved. I had no idea what would have happened if she had dragged me to the bathroom. Whether I would have horrifically messed myself while trying to maintain my composure enough to ‘just’ urinate at the urinal… or been forced to confess my real most pressing potty need, where I would then have been dragged to a filthy public stall and forced to suffer the most humiliating and intense BM of my life…

But as immensely relieved as I was in the moment… unfortunately, that sense of relief didn’t last long.

In fact, it didn’t take long for me to realize that, while I obediently shuffled behind my Mommy as she traversed up and down the endless supermarket aisles, the pressure and cramps in my bowels weren’t getting any better, like I had hoped.

In fact, they were only getting much, much worse…

* * * 

I clutched my tummy and wheezed with pain as I felt another seismic cramp reverberate through my bowels.

I had been patiently, obediently following my Mommy around the crowded supermarket for quite a while now, aisle after aisle, department after department.

She seemed to be doing her shopping even slower than usual, adding to my immense distress. But I knew by now raising any fuss about how long it was taking Mommy to do her errands was a surefire way to suddenly make my situation much worse, with a swift and severe punishment.

At first, I had been carried by the hope that my Mommy would be done shopping soon, which meant we might go home soon, which meant I would finally get to relieve my agonizing bowels on our toilet at home soon...

But then, it began to feel like not only was my Mommy slowing down… but so was time itself. Every step I took with the thick, humiliating, crinkly padding between my legs felt like days of agony as I tried to suppress the cramps in my tummy.

And as my Mommy stopped in the cereal aisle to carry on a long and protracted conversation with a friend from the neighborhood she had recognized, while I gritted my teeth and suppressed the worst groans my tummy had ever made…

I finally realized I had made a huge mistake. 

As mortified and dead-set against I was at first about using the public toilet to relieve my agonizing bowels, I was now at a breaking point. I realized I truly couldn’t hold on much longer. 

And with a chill of terror, the true stakes finally dawned on me of what I was risking if I didn’t summon the strength to subject myself to the humiliation of using the store bathroom with my Mommy…

I realized I was now suddenly risking potentially having an accident in my diaper… while on potty-probation. And if that happened… it meant I might never get to use any toilet at all ever again.

Sweating bullets and wheezing with intestinal distress, I finally faced the fact that I was out of options. I realized my Mommy wasn’t leaving this store anytime soon. My only choice now was to try to get her attention, before I risked the unthinkable happening…

“Ummm… Mommy?” I suddenly squeaked, trying to get her attention while she carried on her conversation with the neighbor she happened to run into.

While I had been obediently standing right next to my Mommy the whole time they talked, I hadn’t paid attention to a word of their conversation, and I couldn’t have, even if I wanted to. I was far too distracted by the seismic gurgling and gasp-inducing cramps that had now fully seised my bowels.

“Mommy? Mommy?” I whined again, desperate to get her attention without earning myself a scolding, or worse, for rudely interrupting.

Finally, my Mommy turned around. “What is it, hon?” she asked, clearly irritated.

“I… uh… umm… well… you see… I just… ummm….” I murmured, still struggling to say it, after resisting it for so long. 

But now, I was practically doubled over in pain. My face was red and covered with sweat. My bowels were making noises I’d never heard anyone’s stomach make before. I suddenly needed to poop worse than I’d ever needed to poop in my life, and my primal desperation for physical relief finally took over…

“I gotta go potty, Mommy!” I finally managed to belt out, clutching my tummy and grimacing in pain.

My Mommy gave a brief expression of surprise, then let out a long sigh of disappointment. Then she turned back to her friend.

“Alright, I’d better get back to shopping with the little rugrat, here. It was great catching up! Let’s stay in touch about playdates and babysitting, like you said! I’m sure they’d both love that,” my Mommy said to her friend.

If I wasn’t in such agony, I might have paid more attention to what she mentioned about playdates and babysitting, but as it stood, I only had one concern. Getting. To. The. Potty.

My Mommy finally hugged her friend goodbye, then slowly turned around and started pushing the cart down the aisle again while I shuffled alongside her.

I felt a sudden and tremendous wave of relief. It looked like she was taking me to the bathroom! I was so happy I could have cried.

Or at least, that’s how it seemed at first…

Until a moment later, my Mommy stopped at a shelf and started looking through cans of soup again, to my utter bafflement.

“Umm, Mommy!” I squeaked. “I said I really need you to take me to the potty!”

“Oh, I know, sweetie,” she replied calmly. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done with my shopping, then we’ll go right there.”

I was flummoxed. “But… but… Mommyyy… I really have to go….” I softly whimpered.

But she seemed to ignore me as she continued calmly looking through items on the shelf.

“Mommyyyy… Mommyyyy… Mommy…” I continued whining, clutching my stomach in pain as I followed her.

But she still didn’t respond.

Finally, I cried out, “Mommy, I said I really have to go potty, right now!”

“Well, too bad!” my Mommy suddenly shouted back, spinning on her heels to stare me down. “You should have thought of that the first time I offered to take you, shouldn’t you have? You know, right when we entered the store?”

I instantly wilted, feeling scared. She only scolded me in that tone of voice when I was on the verge of being in big, big trouble.

“But… but… I really have to go, really bad…” I whimpered softly. “Can’t you please just take me now?”

“No,” my Mommy said sternly. “Absolutely not. When I offered to take you to the potty before, I made it very clear to you it was because I didn’t want to take any potty breaks while I was in the middle of shopping. I even tried to insist you go potty, even if you didn’t feel like it, so this wouldn’t happen. And guess what? You refused. Why did you refuse? Probably because you thought you were too much of a big boy to go potty when your Mommy said you should.

“Well, guess what, little buddy? If you want to choose to try to act like a big boy, that’s fine. But that also means actually being treated like a big boy. And in this case, that means you quit whining and you hold it like a big boy until I’m done shopping and can take you to the potty again. Is that clear?” my Mommy scolded.

“I… I…” I stammered, the cramps in my tummy too painful for me to think straight.

“I said… IS. THAT. CLEAR?” my Mommy repeated, causing the hair to go up on the back of my neck in fear.

“Yes, Mommy,” I murmured.

“Good,” my Mommy said, finally letting out a small sigh and returning to her task of comparing soup cans. “Now, I’ll only be a little bit longer. And like I said before, I’ll take you to the potty right away when I’m finished.”

I nodded and stared at the floor. My face burned red with embarrassment, shame, pain, and frustration as I resumed silently and obediently standing behind my Mommy, like she ordered, my bowels cramping and my tummy grumbling in non-stop, humiliating pain.

The worst part of all was knowing, deep down, she was right…

This whole situation really was my fault.

* * * 

As I stood beside my Mommy while she leisurely shopped, gritting my teeth and silently wrestling a new wave of excruciating cramps in my stomach and bowels, my attention happened to turn back to what I was wearing beneath my pants…

The diaper. The stupid, humiliating, crinkly diaper. It suddenly felt more embarrassing and stifling than ever between my legs and around my waist. It was sweaty, and tight, and puffy, and a reminder I just couldn’t ignore of just what a stupid baby I was.

And I really was a pathetic, stupid baby, wasn’t I? My Mommy was right. I should have just gone to the potty when she first offered when we first walked in. Why didn’t I? What reason was there, besides my own pathetic, babyish stubbornness and stupidity…

As I twisted my feet and screwed my face in pain from another urgent cramp, and stared at my Mommy’s back while she continued calmly perusing the shelves, I couldn’t help but wonder…

What if I just made a run for it? What If I just took off running for the bathroom, right now. And went to the bathroom all by myself, without permission, and just sat on the toilet before it was too late…

Every fiber of my physical biology was begging me to do it. To just go get to the potty so I could finally relieve the excruciating pressure and agony in my guts…

But my feet wouldn’t dare budge. And I really wasn’t even certain why.

Perhaps it was because the idea of so flagrantly disobeying even just one of my Mommy’s direct rules at this point gave me the heebie-jeebies. Let alone several direct rules, such as not leaving her side when in public, not using the potty without permission or supervision, and not removing one’s own diaper…

Especially now that I had a pretty good sample of all the flavors of corporal punishment my Mommy had to offer when it came to seriously disciplining me. I could only imagine what punishment such over the top defiance would yield. There would likely be permanent marks on my behind by time she was done with me in the big boy punishment room.

Or maybe, the reason I couldn’t bear to move my feet in defiance, was just picturing the moment after I sat down on the toilet, if I did…

I would almost certainly hear my Mommy charging into the bathroom hot on my heels, bellowing to the crowded bathroom of strangers about how she was looking for her naughty, naughty boy. Then she would find me in the stall, pull me off the toilet, and no doubt publicly spank and scold me in front of the crowd of adult men, with my diaper dangling around my ankles.

Would I ever be able to look another adult stranger in the eyes again after suffering such an unforgettable public humiliation?

Or maybe, besides the potential spanking of a lifetime, or humiliation of a lifetime, the real reason why I couldn’t do it, why I couldn’t turn and run to the bathroom in that moment without my Mommy’s permission, was because deep down… I knew she was right. I didn’t deserve it.

I knew I didn’t deserve to go to the potty until my Mommy was done shopping. Not at this point, anyway.

On some level, I knew the crippling pains in my bowels were the price of acting like a baby, and not going potty when I was told to. Now, they were the price of wanting to be a big boy, and holding it like a big boy should.

And even though I knew I had acted like such a baby earlier, I still so badly wanted to be a big boy. A big boy who made his Mommy proud more than anything. And I knew if I took off running without permission like a naughty baby, I would never be a big boy in her eyes again…

But even despite my resolve to prove to my Mommy I was a big boy, with every step I continued following her as she meandered down the grocery aisle, the pain in my guts was becoming unbearable, and I sensed my willpower reaching yet another breaking point.

“Mommyyyy…” I began softly whimpering again in barely audible pleas, tears coming to my eyes. “Mommyyyy… please hurry…”

And even though she didn’t hear most of my pleas, or she chose to ignore them, she would still occasionally turn back to calmly reassure me, “Almost done, hon. Just a few more things. Almost done.”

My whole body was trembling. Sweat was pouring down my face. I was rocking back and forth on my feet, squeezing my eyes shut, and focusing everything I had on keeping my bottom from exploding.

My exhaustion and agony began to propel me into a near tantric-state. I didn’t know how much more I could take! I felt on the verge of totally collapsing or passing out.

Suddenly, something my Mommy had said began to abruptly echo as a thought within my head…

You wanted to be a big boy.

You wanted to be a big boy.

You wanted to be a big boy.

I was dumbstruck by a sudden, dazed, agonizing epiphany. I abruptly stumbled forward, wrapped my arms around my Mommy, and broke down into hysterical, heaving sobs.

“I’m sorry, Mommy! I was wrong! I can’t do it! I don’t want to be a big boy! I don’t know how to be a big boy, after all!” I wailed, burying my face in her chest and suddenly clinging to her like a lone life raft in an endless freezing sea.

And in the blackness of my closed eyes against her chest, I heard her voice whisper so softly, it was just barely detectible, if even actually there at all…

Just let it go, my baby boy. Just let it all go.

I pulled my head away from my Mommy’s chest. She looked down at me, her expression confused.

I suddenly felt a wave of indescribable calm. My tears totally dried, my physical pain evaporated. As if I was suddenly struck with enlightenment.

“Is everything okay, bud?” my Mommy asked, her arms still wrapped around me. A slow, goofy smile grew across my face. And with one last big, deep inhale…

FRRRRTT—

I erupted with one of the most massive, stinky messes of my life, right into the seat of my diaper. All while my Mommy held me close, seemingly with no idea what was happening right before her eyes...

___________

Buy now to read the rest of this full-length (130+ pages) Novella!

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(The following was first published on: Mar 18, 2024)

Excerpt:

(Notice: The following story features mature content in an ABDL setting. All characters are over the age of 18+.)

“Alright, Ella. Now that we’re done eating breakfast, what do you want to feed the baby for breakfast?” Jessica heard Aunt Debbie ask her younger cousin, Ella, as they finished eating at the kitchen table behind her.

Jessica had listened to the two of them taking their time, enjoying a large, scrumptious breakfast of french toast, eggs, bacon and waffles.

Meanwhile, Jessica had remained obediently kneeling in the corner, hands behind her back, wearing nothing but her puffy diaper and pink t-shirt, her stomach growling…

“Oh! You mean… I get to decide what cuzzie Jessy eats?” Ella asked.

“Of course! She’s the baby of the house, after all, and you’re her much more mature cousin,” Aunt Debbie explained.

“Oh! Well, maybe she should just have some of our french toast? There’s still a lot left here,” Ella said.

Jessica’s stomach growled again, and she desperately wanted to burst out with pleas of agreement. But she also didn’t dare disobey her aunt and speak out of turn at this point.

“Hmmm, well, that’s not a bad idea, dear,” Aunt Debbie said. “But then again, remember what Jessica said she’s trying really hard to do? She’s trying really hard to prove that she’s an extra-good baby. And french toast isn’t a very babyish food, is it?”

“No, I guess you’re right,” Ella replied. “I wasn’t allowed to eat big girl food like french toast till I was fully day-time potty-trained. And she’s still in a diaper!”

“That’s right!” Aunt Debbie giggled, while Jessica’s heart quietly sunk.

“Oh, I know what she should eat, then!” Ella blurted.

“What’s that?” Aunt Debbie said.

“Baby food! The extra gross, green-colored kind that I always hated!” Ella said.

“Oh, that’s very good, Ella!” Aunt Debbie encouraged. “That’s a great way for Jessica to show us just what a good baby she is. Eating yucky baby food. I think I still have some jars left in the top cabinet.”

“Oh, and she should also have to eat it sitting strapped in my old highchair! And wearing a bib! And be fed with a big plastic spoon!” Ella shouted in excitement.

“Wow, those are all really great ideas, Ella! You’re really very smart. Now, you be a good girl and keep an eye on your baby cousin while you finish your breakfast. Mommy’s going to get up and go get everything ready for baby Jessy-poo,” Aunt Debbie said as she got up from the table.

Jessica wanted to cry out in anguish the moment she heard her auntie leave the room. But she bit her lip and held back, still terrified of breaking any rules. She couldn’t believe Ella was selling her out like this…

“Up! On your feet, right now,” Aunt Debbie gruffly ordered, snapping her fingers behind Jessica’s head.

Jessica had been kneeling for so long, she was startled by her aunt finally suddenly summoning her back up to her feet. 

“Stop dawdling!” Aunt Debbie barked again as Jessica stumbled on her aching knees. “Stand right here, hands on your head, facing front.”

Jessica scrambled to the spot in the middle of the kitchen floor that her auntie had pointed, planting her hands on her head.

Privately, Jessica felt herself suppressing a sudden well of tears and hurt. She really had no idea why Debbie was being so mean to her that morning, and the way she was barking at the girl and snapping her fingers was really starting to take a toll on her. Jessica really was just trying her best for her!

“Good girl,” Auntie Debbie said coldly to Jessica, then turned back to Ella. “Now, before we put the baby in her highchair, do you see anything that’s missing?”

“Hmmmm…” Ella said. “Oh, that’s right, her bib!”

“Very good!” Aunt Debbie smiled.

Jessica blushed with embarrassment as she helplessly watched Aunt Debbie take out a big, humiliating, babyish bib, and wrap it around her neck while she stood there motionless, like some sort of dress-up doll.

“Anything else?” Aunt Debbie asked. “Can you think of one more thing?”

“Hmmm…” Ella said, screwing her face in concentration. “I’m not sure.”

“Well, how about…” Aunt Debbie said, reaching into her apron pocket, “her special baby-mittens, of course! To help make sure the baby’s hands stay safe and out of the way during her feeding.”

“Oh yeah!” Ella grinned with recognition. “I’ve been such a good girl for so long, I forgot all about those!”

Jessica’s eyes widened with silent horror as Aunt Debbie slipped large, locking, woolen safety-mittens over each of Jessica’s hands. Jessica had never seen anything like them before, but she immediately realized their purpose, when she discovered how totally trapped and immobile her fingers now were.

“What do you say when Auntie gives you nice things to wear?” Aunt Debbie quietly growled at Jessica.

“Uhmm… thank you, Auntie, for my bib and mittens,” Jessica managed to get out through her stunned, hoarse voice.

“And now our baby is ready for brekky!” Aunt Debbie grinned, pushing Jessica forward, toward her highchair.

“Wait!” Ella suddenly shouted out.

“Yes, dear?” Aunt Debbie asked, stopping Jessica in her tracks.

“We’re supposed to be helping Jessica be a good baby for us, right?” Ella said.

“That’s right,” Aunt Debbie said.

“So then, I think before Jessy-poo sits down in her highchair… she should have a wet diaper. A really wet diaper. Just like a baby would,” Ella offered innocently.

Jessica’s eyes widened in horror, while Aunt Debbie slowly cracked a huge grin and turned her head. “Oh, Ella, what a very, very smart girl you are! You’re absolutely right. Isn’t she, Jessy-poo?” Aunt Debbie asked.

Jessica gulped, her whole face burning red hot in horror and embarrassment. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. But at the same time, she forced herself to nod her head, anyway.

“Well, then,” Aunt Debbie grinned, placing her hand on the front of Jessica’s diaper. “Go ahead and make a wet diaper for us, sweetie. Be a good stinky baby and do a nice, big, heavy weewee, right in your puffy pamper, right now, while Ella and I stand here and watch.”

Jessica was frozen in horror. It seemed like no matter how bad things got, somehow, her humiliation at Aunt Debbie’s still only got worse and worse…

“Well? We’re waiting?” Aunt Debbie scolded, her hand still firmly gripping the front of Jessica’s large, puffy diaper.

It had been what felt like minutes, yet was probably only seconds. But Jessica had yet to pee a single drop, as her aunt had ordered. 

Standing there before her aunt and cousin, wearing a large baby diaper, and being asked to pee while they both stared at her and watched… her bladder just seemed to refuse the task with every fiber of her being.

“Jessica!” her auntie scolded. “You can either be a good baby girl and wet your diaper right now… or I can send you right back upstairs to your room till your mother comes, and our deal is officially over!”

Whack! Whack! Whack! Jessica cried out in pain from three more sharp blows to her thigh from her Auntie’s wooden spoon—the pain from which only made the task of peeing right then exponentially harder.

“So, which is it gonna be?” Auntie Debbie scolded.

Jessica broke into a hot sweat. She felt utterly paralyzed and tormented, unable to move, let alone pee. And the worst part was, she sensed she did actually have to go!

“One…” her Auntie started counting out. 

Jessica’s heart pounded.

“Two…”

Jessica wanted to burst into tears.

“Three.”

Finally, in a frantic, hail mary act of unbearable psychological desperation, Jessica closed her eyes… and retreated deep into herself.

She replayed the moment from yesterday in her head, when she was over her Auntie’s lap. The moment when she started peeing… 

And the moment afterward, when she found herself desperately pleading… 

That she was just a stupid baby.

I’m just a stupid baby. Just a naughty, stupid baby. A naughty, stupid, stinky, peepee baby who goes weewee in my diapees, Jessica found herself suddenly frantically muttering under her breath again and again. Just a naughty, stupid, stinky diaper baby. A naughty, wet, stinky, peepee baby…

And finally, to Jessica’s utter surprise… it happened. The floodgates suddenly came pouring open.

Hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssss…

“Oh my! That’s a good baby girl,” her aunt cooed in surprise with sudden words of encouragement, her hand squeezing the rapidly bulging diaper. “That’s a good baby girl, making a big, heavy weewee in your diapee for Auntie…”

Jessica was equal parts mortified, equal parts entranced. But all she cared about now was emptying herself totally and completely. She didn’t let up at all, even while she felt her diaper quickly growing hotter and heavier and thicker against her privates than she’d ever felt her diaper get yet, with her Auntie squeezing and mushing her diaper crotch with her hand the whole time.

“That’s a good baby girl! That’s a good baby diaper girl. Going weewee like a good baby,” Aunt Debbie continued to coo. “Go ahead and let it all out. Just like your cuzzie Ella told you to. A big, fat, stinky, weewee diaper to sit in for breakfast.”

Hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssss… Hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss… Hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss…

Finally, at long last, Jessica’s bladder was empty. She slowly opened her eyes back up, slightly in a state of disbelief.

Both Aunt Debbie and Ella were grinning at her. Ella seemed to be delighting at watching Jessica do something so pathetic and babyish at her whim… while Aunt Debbie seemed to have a different flare of excitement in her eye. Exactly why, Jessica shuddered to imagine.

“Okay, baby girl, that was very good. Now, come take a seat, let’s get you strapped into your highchair for breakfast. Ella’s right. You’re about to prove just how dedicated you really are to being a good baby, whether you’re prepared for it or not,” Aunt Debbie snickered, sending a fresh chill down Jessica’s spine.

___________

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(The following was first published on: Feb 2, 2024)

Excerpt:

“Diapers!” I gasped in shock. “You… you… you actually want to put me back in diapers?”

I stared up from the changing table in horror as Miss Turner casually inspected and unfolded a giant, bright pink, adult disposable diaper in front of my face.

“Aw, what’s wrong, baby Lucas?” Miss Turner giggled. “You don’t like the color pink? Well too bad, because you didn’t answer me, I picked butterflies for you, and the butterfly diapers are pink! Nothing we can do about that now. Besides, I think you’ll look so cute in these.”

“But… you can’t be serious!” I pleaded. “I don’t need diapers! I’m a full-grown adult! You can’t make me wear that!”

“Aw, I’m sorry, little Lucas,” Miss Turner said, “I know you really want to be a big boy. And maybe, if you ask your Mommy real nice when she comes to pick you up, she might try to potty-train you again at home. But until we can be sure that’s happened, school policy is that if you’re not potty-trained yet, and you have a big peepee accident in your pants, like you did, we have to put you back in diapers from now on.”

I was mortified beyond comprehension. Deep down, I had been terrified something like this would happen since the moment I realized she had brought me back to a changing room. But now, seeing the absurd, baby-printed, pink diaper being unfolded right before my eyes, I was forced to actually come to terms with the outrageous humiliation of what Miss Turner was proposing.

She was putting me in a diaper! A bright pink disposable diaper! The sound of the infantile, crinkly garment alone was already making me feel sick. I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to wear it…

“Please!” I whimpered in desperation. “You have to believe me! Like I’ve been saying, I promise I didn’t actually wet myself! I’m potty-trained just fine, I swear!”

Miss Turner paused, furrowed her brow. “Hmmm, you didn’t wet yourself? Really?”

“Really!” I said, surprised she seemed to be listening.

“Well, then,” Miss Turner said, touching her chin and thinking. “I guess you won’t mind if I do this.”

Suddenly, she retrieved my soaking wet boxers from the diaper pail. And to my shock and horror…

She wadded them up and pressed my pee-soaked boxers up against my mouth and nose!

I gagged and recoiled in utter shock and disgust, sputtering and writhing against my restraints at the awful stench.

Miss Turner erupted in laughter and pulled them away. “Oh, you do mind? Maybe it’s because your boxers are soaked with peepee, huh? Because you wet them? Glad we cleared that up,” she said, wiping her hands and dropping the boxers back in the diaper pail.

“Wait!” I sputtered, “Please you just have to listen! I swear, if you let me finally explain, I really didn’t—“

WHAP! I shrieked from a sudden hard spank on my naked ass.

“Quiet! Now the next word out of your mouth means a visit from Mr. Hairbrush,” she scolded, grabbing a wooden hairbrush from beneath the changing table.

“Please!” I belted out. “I’ll do anything! But please, just don’t put me back in—“

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

I shrieked and jerked against my restraints as Miss Turner erupted with a fresh storm of blows on my ass with the hard wooden hairbrush.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

To my shock and pain, I discovered that the hairbrush was far more painful than her bare hand! And she struck me even fiercer and faster than she had that morning!

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

When she finally paused her blows, I was already wailing and sobbing for mercy, my face covered with snot and tears. I felt like such a helpless, pathetic baby.

“Now, are you ready to finally stop your fibbing, fussing, whining and lies? Or do I need to keep going with Mr. Hairbrush?” Miss Turner asked.

“I’ll be good! I’ll be good, I promise!” I squealed in submission, now desperate to do anything to just get the excruciating spanking to stop.

“Good,” she said. “Because I never want to hear those lies about not wetting yourself out of your mouth ever again. Is that understood?”

I frantically nodded.

“Say it for me, Lucas!” she barked. “Prove to me you’re done telling lies!”

“Huh?” I squeaked through teary eyes.

WHAP!

“The truth! Tell me what you did and why!” she scolded. “And address me properly!”

“Ummm,” I gulped, “I uh… wet my pants, ma’am.”

WHAP!

“Louder!” she demanded as I shrieked.

“I wet my pants, ma’am!” I loudly squealed.

WHAP!

“And why did you wet your pants?” she shouted.

“Because I’m not potty-trained!” I squealed.

“That’s right!” she said. “And what do naughty little boys who wet their pants at daycare have to wear?”

I opened my mouth and choked up. I knew what she wanted me to say, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say it…

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

“Diapers!” I finally belted out. “I need to wear diapers! I need to wear diapers at daycare from now on because I’m not potty-trained, ma’am!”

And with that, I broke down into a fresh wave of heaving, humiliated sobs as I lay naked before her on the changing table.

I could hear Miss Turner lightly giggling with joy. And then I felt her start gently rubbing my back and patting my naked bottom.

“That’s my good little baby boy,” she cooed. “That’s right. You need diapers because you’re a peepee pants. I’m so glad you can finally just admit that you’re just a big, peepee pants baby, and you need your teacher at daycare to put you in diapers. Now, are you finally ready to cooperate for the rest of your diaper change, like you promised you would do before?”

I nodded my head, far too beaten into submission at this point to possibly resist.

“Good boy,” she said. “That being said, given your pattern of extreme disobedience and dishonesty, when it comes to caring for you going forward, it looks like we’re going to have to keep you on a pretty tight leash. Metaphorically speaking… or maybe not so metaphorically,” Miss Turner giggled to herself, sending a fresh chill of terror down my spine.

“Therefore, there’s one more thing I need to do to help ensure that I have your full cooperation for the rest of your diaper change,” she said. Miss Turner walked across the room and started digging through one of the cabinet drawers. “Ah, here it is,” she said as she retrieved something.

Still strapped facedown on the changing table, I craned my neck to try to look, but couldn’t quite see it from the angle I was at. I was terrified and desperate to know what she was talking about, but still knew better than to ask, given the mood she was in.

But then, I did see her retrieve a jar of vaseline. Followed by a pair of red latex gloves, which she expertly equipped with their telltale, latex snap.

Suddenly, I felt a strange tickle around my bottom.

The tickle then became a strange pressure…

The pressure quickly escalated into an overpowering downward force…

Jamming itself into my delicate hole, pushing harder and harder, spreading me wider and wider!

“Ooooooaaaaawwwwwwwoooohhhh!” I immediately erupted with helpless squeals and gasps as I felt my sphincter being abruptly jammed open wider than I’d ever felt it stretch before. I was in immediate, breath-taking pain as I felt my butthole being spread open against my will. I had never felt anything like it before.

But then, the object suddenly reversed direction. She was pulling it out. I gasped again with indescribable relief as my butthole closed back up. Thank god, I thought to myself.

But before I even had the chance to turn and ask what was going on—

“Oooooooooaaaawwwwww!” I groaned and screamed even louder as Miss Turner started shoving the object right back into my hole, this time even harder and deeper!

Again and again, she pulled and pushed, going further and further, spreading me wider and wider as I squealed like a schoolgirl and writhed like a helpless baby. I realized I was being anally fucked by this woman with some sort of object, and the mixture of helplessness, pain, and deep humiliation was indescribable.

“Miss Turner! Please! I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—oooooh!!!!!” I begged and screeched and writhed in girlish agony.

Finally, she plunged harder and deeper into me than ever. And as I squealed for mercy at the top of my lungs, with the pressure suddenly so intense, I truly didn’t feel like I could bear one more second without my butthole being ripped in two—

PHWLOOP

My screams turned into squealing gasps as I felt the object finally push past my sphincter…

And swiftly settle inside my rear end, spreading my rectum out wider than I’d ever felt anything ever do to it before.

“Ooooh… unggghh… aaaa…” I grunted and gasped, writhing against my tight restraints as I felt the object settle inside of me, squeezing and tickling me in places I thought no intruder could ever reach.

“What… what did you just put inside of me?” I finally managed to gasp.

“This… is your obedience plug,” Miss turner said, giving the base of the massive butt plug inside of me a gentle tug, making me instantly grunt with discomfort. “And it’s here to help make sure you’re an extra good baby from now on,” she giggled.

___________

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